


Arias For The Dead

by kingofthebottleshooters



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:49:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26232973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingofthebottleshooters/pseuds/kingofthebottleshooters
Summary: The AgentReign Castle AU you never knew you wanted or needed.Sam Arias has just published the final volume of her bestselling crime thriller series, and is in desperate need either of inspiration for her new book or an excuse not to write it. Enter Alex Danvers, the best homicide detective in National City, who finds herself in grudging need of Arias' assistance with a spate of murders inspired by the writer's works.Tough, smart, dedicated and very good looking, Danvers is everything Arias has been looking for. Cocky, rich, self-centered and unfairly gorgeous, Arias is everything Danvers wants to avoid. They're the perfect team.
Relationships: Samantha "Sam" Arias/Alex Danvers
Comments: 22
Kudos: 84





	1. Flowers For Your Grave: Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea kicking around for quite a while, but found the toughest bit was deciding who to 'cast' as Castle and Beckett. I was initially thinking of it as a Supercorp fic, but Alex is the obvious fit for a law enforcement official with residiual trauma over a dead parent and a somewhat strained relationship with the surviving one, and there aren't many options for a character with a child unless I create an OC, so here we go.  
> As will be obvious if you're familiar with Castle, this hews very close to that at present, and will probably continue to do so for chapters that adapt specific episodes. Once we start getting into the particulars of the background story though, that'll change.  
> Hope you enjoy, and let me know what you think!

** Flowers For Your Grave: Part 1 **

The call had come relatively early, the city still bustling under the night sky as Detective Alex Danvers made her way into the building. It was one of countless apartment blocks littering National City, but it was a hell of a lot nicer than the ones she usually frequented, whether for personal or professional reasons; the people who lived here might not have been part of the 1%, but they certainly didn’t have to hope for rent control.

Presumably, neither had the person who died here.

Forensics were already hard at work as she entered the room, a chic apartment on the 10th floor. The majority of the apartment was neat and tidy, which made the artfully posed body in the middle of the room even more disturbing. Danvers paused for a moment, surveying the scene with her lips pursed and her hands on her hips. A woman, nude but covered neck to foot with roses, and sunflowers over her eyes.

Standing nearer the body, her two partners, Detectives Olsen and Schott looked up, acknowledging her arrival with a nod and a smile respectively. Olsen took out his notebook as Danvers stepped closer, flicking through a couple of pages.

“What have we got?” she asked, her eyes still on the victim.

“Name’s Alison Tilsdale, 24 years old,” Olsen said. “Graduated from NYU a year or so ago, she’s been working as a social worker here since.”

“Nice place for a social worker.”

“I’d guess daddy paid for it,” Schott chipped in. “Jonathan Tilsdale.”

Danvers nodded; she recognized the name, one of the bigger names in National City, and a multi-millionaire several times over.

“There was a noise complaint,” Olsen continued, “but she didn’t respond to the neighbours, so they called the super. He let himself in, and…”

“And here we are,” Danvers finished. “No sign of a struggle though – she knew her killer.”

“And they brought her flowers,” another voice chimed in. The three detectives looked over at the new arrival, M.E. Lane. The woman put her bag down, stretching out a few kinks. “Guess romance isn’t dead after all.”

“Oh, trust me, it is,” Danvers shot back. Lane rolled her eyes.

“It wouldn’t be if you just listened to me, just sayin’…”

Danvers shook her head. “So did she get anything besides flowers?”

“Oh yeah,” Lane said, fishing out a pair of tweezers and bending down. She moved a couple of the roses aside, carefully, to reveal two bullet wounds. “Small calibre, but they did the job.”

“Mm.” Danvers looked Tilsdale up and down once more, her brow furrowed in thought. “Does this look familiar to you guys?”

“No…” Olsen said slowly. “But you’re the one who likes them weird. Give me an open and shut any day.”

“Oh, but the weird ones give you so much more,” Danvers replied, crouching down. “Look at how she was left, nude but totally covered.”

“So?” Schott said, sounding confused.

“You’re not going to find any evidence of sexual assault, despite all the theatre.”

“You really get that just from the flowers?” Olsen asked, his scepticism obvious.

“Well, that and I’ve seen it before,” Danvers said, standing back up. “The roses, the sunflowers…” She looked at the others, taking in their blank expressions, and sighed. “Do you guys not read?”

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The party was in full swing, but Samantha Arias was, for a change, not taking center stage. On this occasion, she was more than happy for Julia to take the limelight; it was a slim hope, but it might keep the other woman out of her way for the rest of the night. Mentally crossing her fingers, she knocked back the glass of champagne, and gestured for a refill, which appeared in a flash. As she turned away from the bar though, she realized that she was being approached – Julia, regrettably, from one direction, and a younger woman she didn’t recognize from the other. Sadly, Julia arrived first, fixed smile on her face.

“I can’t believe you killed him!”

Sam rolled her eyes, turning slightly to face the stranger, flashing her an encouraging smile. “What can I say? He was boring me.”

“That’s exactly your problem, Arias – the moment the thrills gone, so are you.”

“I did a whole series on Oliver Queen,” Sam snapped back. “Gotta ask, is this coming from my money-loving publisher, or my money-loving ex-wife?”

“Ms Arias?”

“And good evening to you,” Sam drawled, looking the new arrival up and down. She blushed, giggled, and held out a marker pen.

“Could you, maybe…” She shifted position a little, emphasizing the low cut of her top. Sam grinned, and took the pen.”

“It would be my pleasure, believe me.” She signed the woman’s chest with a flourish, and handed the pen back. “Why don’t you come find me when you need to get that washed off, hmm?”

The woman scurried off, giggling, and Sam turned back to Julia, who looked even less impressed. “Are you doing this to spite me?”

“What, killing Oliver, or signing her chest? Because no to both, but it is a nice little bonus.”

Julia sighed. “Did you really have to kill him though? Couldn’t you just, I don’t know – shipwreck him or something?”

“Too far-fetched, even for me. Look, don’t worry, OK? Oliver Queen is not the moneymaker here, I am,” she continued, making a genuine attempt to mollify the other woman. “I wrote half-a-dozen books before him, I can do it again.”

“Yeah? Your deadline was nine weeks ago.”

“Well, you can’t rush art.”

“Can’t rush it, or can’t start it?” Julia countered with a glare. “From what I hear, you’ve not written in months.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Sam scoffed, not quite meeting Julia’s eyes.

“It better be, or Worldkiller Press is prepared to demand the return of the advance.”

Sam fixed her with a cocky smile. “You wouldn’t dare.”

The other woman leaned in, smiling her own falsely-sweet smile. “Wanna bet?”

Same moved away, gesturing for another glass of champagne. “You know you already got that advance back in the divorce, right?”

“Better get writing then, sweetheart.”

Sam watched her go with a disgruntled expression, before turning her gaze away to look over the crowed; she brightened at the sight of her two favorite people on the other side of the room. She headed over, shaking a few hands, signing a few autographs, before pausing to look at the book on the table they were sitting at. “Lena, are you leading my daughter astray?”

“It’s a physics textbook, mom,” Ruby said, rolling her eyes.

“Yes, and we’re at a party,” Sam said, sitting down next to the girl. On the other side, Lena, Sam’s best friend and Ruby’s godmother, snorted.

“Please, I’d never encourage her like that – I’m not Lillian for god’s sake!”

“And how is the wicked witch?”

“Same old, same old,” Lena said dismissively, sipping her scotch. “She sends her best.”

“Lovely. So, which one of you spoke to Julia?”

Ruby and Lena looked at each other, then back to Sam. “Both of us,” Lena said carefully. “It is a party, after all.”

“OK, which one of you told her I’m struggling with the new book?” Same asked, raising her eyebrow in a manner she’d learned from Lena herself.

“Oh, I…may have said something about you lounging around in your underwear watching cartoons,” Lena admitted. At her friends sigh, she held her hands up defensively. “What? It’s not a criticism, you’re an artist, you’re living your best life, more power to you.”

“I knew letting you move in was a bad idea,” Sam muttered. Ruby sniggered, and looked away.

“OK, OK, no talking to the ex, got it – although if you will keep working with her…”

“I like Julia a hell of a lot more than you like some of the people you work with,” Sam pointed out.

“I’ve never married any of them though.”

“No, you just – “ Sam glanced at Ruby, who was wincing, and cut herself off. “Well. Just don’t talk to her about my work, OK?”

“You ever do any, my lips are sealed,” Lena promised. Then she sat up straighter in her chair, clearly studying something. “Hello…” When Sam looked around, there was a handsome woman in Lena’s eyeline, slightly older, with a touch of salt and pepper in her hair. “No ring,” Lena murmured, standing up. “Stand back girls, and wish me luck.”

Mother and daughter watched her sashay off, then Sam slid her champagne to Ruby, stealing Lena’s scotch for herself.

“You know I’m 15, right?”

“You’re mature enough,” Sam said casually.

“Mature enough to wait, yes,” Ruby said, pushing the glass back towards her mother.

“Fair enough, fair enough…” Sam lapsed into silence, people watching and sipping her drink, before Ruby spoke up, sounding concerned.

“You OK, mom?”

“You know why I killed Oliver? He was predictable. Just like these parties – I know exactly what’s going to happen, every moment, every scene. ‘Oh, I’m such a fan!’, ‘Where do you get your ideas?’”

“’Will you sign my chest’” Ruby muttered.

“Well, that one I don’t mind too much,” Sam said with a grin.

“I kinda do, for the record.”

“I just…just once, I want someone to say something different, you know?”

“Ms Arias?”

They looked up to see a severe looking redheaded woman in a suit standing there. An NCPD badge dangled from her fingertips. “Detective Alex Danvers. I’d like to ask you a few questions about a murder earlier tonight.”

Sam’s jaw dropped, and Ruby gently took her glass away from her. “Well, that’s different.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Arias sat across the table in blessed silence as Danvers skimmed through the author’s file. Unlike her books, it did not make for satisfying reading. “Quite the rap sheet you’ve developed here, Ms Arias. Disorderly conduct, resisting arrest…theft of a police horse?”

“Ah, borrowed.”

Danvers raised an eyebrow. “Theft of a police horse while nude, in fact.”

“It was a hot day.”

“And yet, charges have been dropped every time,” Danvers finished, closing the file and looking up at the other woman. She smirked.

“Did you know the mayor enjoys crime fiction? But if it would help, I’d be more than happy to let you punish me.”

Danvers leaned in a little closer, folding her arms on the desk in-between them. “Ms Arias, this…roguish charm thing might work for the party girls you like so much, but I’m working. That gives you two options: be the person who makes my life harder, or the person who makes my life easier. Trust me, you want to make my life easier.”

“Party boys, too.”

“What?”

“Party girls and boys, detective. But point taken. What’s this about?”

Danvers blinked, then cleared her throat before pushing a photograph across the table. “Alison Tilsdale. Daughter of Jonathan Tilsdale.”

“The real estate guy? She’s cute.”

“And dead. You know her? Meet her at a book signing, club opening?”

Arias brow furrowed for a moment, then she shook her head. “Can’t say I remember her, no. Definitely haven’t slept with her, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“What about him?” Danvers slid over another picture, this one of a man in his forties, balding and wearing glasses. “Marvin Fisk, small-time lawyer.”

“I’m more of a big time client, detective,” Arias said, starting to smile before she took in the look on Danvers face. “No, never heard of him. Is there a reason I would have?”

“Fisk was murdered a couple of weeks ago – messy, but I didn’t make the connection until the Tilsdale crime scene tonight.” Danvers pulled some more photos out of a different file in front of her, and spread them out before Arias. The writer immediately nodded at the photo of Alison’s body.

“ _Flowers for your Grave._ ”

“And Marvin Fisk was right out of _Hell Hath No Fury_ ,” Danvers said, tapping the other photo. Fisk was also nude, but lying face down in the middle of a roughly drawn pentagram.”

“Huh,” Arias said. “Looks like I have a fan.”

“A crazy one, yeah.”

“I don’t know, you don’t look crazy to me, detective,” the writer continued, still looking at the photos.

“I’m sorry?”

At that, Arias did look up, a knowing glint in her eyes. “ _Hell Hath No Fury_? Angry wiccans on a rampage? Only hardcore Arias groupies bothered with that one.”

Danvers cleared her throat again, fighting to keep the embarrassment she was feeling at the totally accurate statement off her face. “And do those groupies ever, say, write you disturbing letters? Tweets?”

“Oh, it’s all disturbing detective,” Arias said, leaning back in her chair casually. “Comes with the job.”

“In cases like this, it’s not uncommon for the killer to – “

“Attempt to contact the subject of his – or her, as it maybe – obsession,” Arias finished for her. She smiled apologetically. “I do my research, detective, even if I don’t always use it. Again, comes with the job.”

“Well then, I’m sure you won’t mind us going through your mail.”

“Have at it,” Arias said with a shrug. She reached out and tapped the photos. “I don’t suppose I could get copies of these, could I?”

Danvers stared at her blankly for a moment. “Copies? What the hell for?”

“I play poker with a few other crime writers – bestsellers, obviously,” Arias explained. “This would make them _so_ jealous.”

“Jealous?”

“Oh, man, a copycat? Do you know how rare that is?”

“You’re talking about dead people, Ms Arias,” Danvers snapped, her eyes blazing. She snatched the pictures back. “People who died horribly.”

“I mean…I didn’t ask for the bodies.”

Danvers stood up and strode to the door, opening it forcefully. The uniformed officer waiting outside jumped at the sudden activity. “We’re done here; the officer will show you out.” Arias sauntered past, the picture of ease, and immediately struck up conversation with the officer as they walked away, leaving Danvers behind, quietly seething. Olsen stepped out of the observation room, looking amused.

“Never meet your heroes, huh?”

“That’s for damn sure,” Danvers muttered.

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It was nearly one in the morning by the time Sam got home, which meant that the sound of passionate conversation in the living room was quite a surprise. The handsome woman from the party was sat of the couch, while Lena sprawled over her, talking nineteen to the dozen about something Sam couldn’t quite catch; whatever it was, the handsome woman looked engrossed. Lena stopped talking when she spotted Sam, waving merrily. “Sam! I’m just telling, ah, Georgie here about L-Tech’s latest project.”

“And she’s still awake? Good going.”

“She’s fascinating,” the handsome woman murmured, gently placing a hand on Lena’s leg. “I’d love to hear more.”

“Oh, well…” It was all the encouragement Lena needed, and she was off again, waving a scotch around like she’d forgotten she was holding it. Her new paramour didn’t seem to mind the risk of spillage, which didn’t surprise Sam in the slightest; it was hardly the first time someone had been captivated by her friend like that. Chuckling to herself, she made her way into the kitchen, itching for a snack, but frowned at the sight of Ruby still up and dressed, apparently doing homework.

“The latest TED talk keeping you up, sweetie? I’ll tell her to knock it off.”

“Don’t, it’s cute,” Ruby said, looking up with a smile. “Her name’s Georgina, she’s a historian.”

“That’s an improvement on the last one, I’ll admit,” Sam said, heading over to the fridge. She scanned the contents quickly before settling for a can of whipped cream. “So how come you’re still up? It’s a school night.”

“And my mom got hauled off by the cops,” Ruby pointed out, putting her pen down. “How was jail? Did you have to shank anyone?”

“I didn’t _have to_ , no.” She popped the lid and squirted some directly into her mouth, before offering it to Ruby; her daughter shook her head, looking faintly disgusted. “Suit yourself.”

“Seriously though, what was going on? Are you OK? Don’t make me look on Tumblr.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Sam said with an exaggerated shudder. “I’m fine sweetie, I promise. They actually wanted my help on a case.”

“Really?”

“Yep. Someone’s out there recreating murders from my books.”

“Oh my god. That’s awful!” Ruby said. “How many?”

“Two so far, but they’ve no idea who or why, so I’d expect at least one more before they catch them,” Sam said, sitting down and resting her head on her hands. Despite her earlier attitude with Detective Danvers, the murders were weighing on her mind. She had made a career on mysteries, and the two murders were bigger than anything she had written. There was something different about it when she didn’t already know the motive or culprit, and the endless facets of the victims lives. “I just don’t get it.”

“Murder?”

“Hm? No, murder I get – it’s usually really obvious. Money, sex, politics…but _Hell Hath No Fury_? _Flowers For Your Grave_? I’ll be the first to admit they’re not my finest work. Even if you’re psychotic, why those?”

“Because they’re psychotic?” Ruby suggested. She stood up, grabbing her mother’s hand. “Come on, get to bed. I’m sure you can crack the case in the morning.”

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Danvers dropped the box onto Olsen’s desk with a heavy thud, making him jump; she smirked at the other officer as he straightened himself out.

“Really?” Schott asked, reaching over and grabbing a book off the top of the pile, leafing through it.

“Her greatest hits,” Danvers confirmed. “Go through them, get familiar with all the murders so that we don’t miss any more. This isn’t your typical killer, we haven’t found any connection between the victims, not even appearance. The answers going to be in the books, I know it.”

“’From the library of Alexandra Danvers’” Schott read out, grinning at Olsen.

“Something you wanna say, Schott?” Danvers asked, deceptively lightly.

“Didn’t have you pegged for a fan-girl, Danvers,” Olsen said, leaning back with his hands behind his head.

“I…appreciate the genre,” she returned, spinning on her heel to head over to her own desk.

“Oh, the _genre_ ,” Schott said. “Sure. Totally explains the blush.”

“Oh, grow up,” she snapped. “Profiling suggests someone with low intelligence, someone who feels like they’ve got a close relationship with Arias. So she and her work are where we start. Get on with it.”

Schott sat down, making a start on the novel he’d picked up; Olsen slid his chair over to the side of Danvers’ desk, looking at her with a curious expression. “We deal with dead bodies all day, and you go home and read murder books?”

“What videogames you playing at the moment, Olsen?”

He shrugged, acknowledging the point, and picked up his own book before settling in. A few hours passed with little comment or interruption, until a couple of uniformed officers arrived carrying more boxes. Danvers waved them over. “Hey Vasquez. That the fanmail?”

“Oh yeah,” the short-haired woman said, resting the box she was carrying on the edge of Danvers’ desk. “They love her all right.”

“Not as much as she loves herself, trust me,” Danvers replied. Vasquez chuckled, and headed over to the briefing room to deposit the box. Danvers turned back to find Olsen hanging up his phone.

“That was the lab. No DNA, no prints, same as Fisk. Our killer’s careful.”

Danvers grunted, annoyed. “Anything more to link the vics yet?”

“Not unless she’s come up with anything,” Olsen said, nodding towards the captain’s office. Puzzled, Danvers spun in her seat, and barely restrained a groan of frustration at the sight of Sam Arias in there, perched on Captain Jones’ desk and chattering away.

“What the hell’s she doing here?”

“Maybe she likes you,” Olsen joked. She turned round to slap at him, but before she could she heard her name being called. Captain Jones was standing in his doorway, beckoning to her. She stood up, a rising sense of trepidation coming over her. This was going to be bad, she just knew it.

“Yes sir?” she asked, closing the door behind her. He nodded towards Arias, who grinned at her. Danvers ignored her.

“Ms Arias has very kindly offered her assistance with the investigation,” the captain said.

“Has she now.”

“I think we can all agree we want this person behind bars sooner rather than later, right detective?” Arias asked. Again, Danvers ignored her, staring straight at the captain, who, if she didn’t know better, she might have described as smiling.

“I think it’s a good idea, under the circumstances,” he continued, leaning back in his chair.

“Sir, can I have a quick word with you? In private?” Danvers ground out.

“Nope!”

She stared at him for another long moment, then spun on her heel, stalking out of the office. She could hear Arias following her, and she made her way to the briefing room where the boxes of fanmail were waiting. She pointed at one of the chairs, smiling almost politely at Arias. “Since you’re here, you can help go through all of this – keep an eye out for anything disturbing. Sorry, _unusually_ disturbing.”

“Happy to help,” Arias said brightly, sitting down and stretching her long legs out in front of her. Danvers studied her for a moment; she looked out of place in the station, in her clearly expensive clothes designed more with style in mind than practicality or comfort – although she had no doubt that Arias was incredibly, irritatingly comfortable no matter the situation. Trying to push her irritation away, she sat down on the opposite side of the desk, and started making her way through her own stack of mail.

Hours passed, and it was beginning to seem like the mail was never-ending. However, thus far nothing had stood out as relevant to the case, in Danvers opinion. Apparently, Arias felt the same, as she leaned back in her chair, stretching her arms out with a weary sigh. “Wow. Really wish I could skim this entire thing in a paragraph or so. Is it lunch time yet? I’m buying.”

“Did you find anything yet?” Danvers asked, not looking up.

“Couple I might want to follow up on privately, if you see what I mean,” Arias replied in teasing tones, “but nothing you’d be interested in, no.”

“Then it’s not lunchtime.”

Arias sighed again. It didn’t sound like she was getting back on with her work. “So what’s the story here, detective?”

Danvers did look up at that, aware that her confusion was probably written all over her face. “Murder, obviously. Two victims, unknown killer.”

“Yes, but why those victims? Why those murders?”

“Sometimes there isn’t a story, Arias,” Danvers said, looking back down at the letters. “Sometimes it’s just random cruelty, the killer’s just a random psycho.”

“Nah, there’s always a story.” The writer shifted in her seat, making herself more comfortable and looking Danvers up and down appraisingly. “Let’s see…why are you here, for example? You’re very good looking, clearly intelligent – not exactly the average for a cop, unless you’re playing one on TV. Lawyer, maybe, but not a cop. So, there’s a story there, right?”

Danvers looked across at her in silence for a moment, before leaning back herself, crossing her legs. “Well, you’re the writer, Arias. You tell me.”

“Well, you’re – what, late twenties, early thirties? But you’re in charge of a murder investigation, and it’s clearly not your first. That’s young, especially for a big department like this. So either you’re very good at your job, or there’s some nepotism going on – but you don’t seem like someone who’d tolerate that, so you’re good. Very good.” Arias paused, clearly deep in thought. “There’s a photo of you surfing on your desk; high end gear, but you don’t strike me as someone who makes extravagant purchases as a rule, so it’s an investment. You surf a lot, or used to at least. So either you’re not from NC originally, or you can afford to get away reasonably often. The latter doesn’t seem likely purely on a cop’s salary – you might be from money, but your suit’s not exactly high end.” She paused again, and smirked. “Although you do wear it _very_ well. Plus your accent isn’t quite right for an NC native, so. Not from around here, young for your job…you’re clearly very smart, too. You had better possibilities than cop. So something happened. Probably not to you, to someone you love.”

Danvers sat very still, fighting to keep her emotions off her face. Arias couldn’t possibly know how close to the mark she was. It seemed her struggle wasn’t as successful as she hoped though; the writer’s expression softened, a flash of something that Danvers might have called guilt, as she finished. “But they were never caught, were they? That’s the thing that hurts.”

“Don’t think you know me, Arias,” Danvers whispered. Arias ducked her head.

“My point is…there’s always a story.”

Danvers looked away from the writer, taking a moment to gather herself. If she’d been asked, when she woke up that morning, to compile a list of unlikely things to be discussing that day, her dad would have been so unlikely that she wouldn’t even have considered him. She took a deep breath. Then another, before finally turning her attention to the letters once more. It took another few minutes of mindless drudgery before she let out a sharp gasp. Arias looked up, and Danvers waved a letter at her. A letter with a crudely drawn depiction of Alison Tilsdale’s murder on.

“I think I found your story.”


	2. Flowers for your Grave: part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have written this chapter at work...I won't tell if you don't. Thanks for the responses to chapter 1, hope you enjoy this as much if not more!

Flowers For Your Grave: Part 2

Danvers slammed the car door behind her, and set off to the building across the street, marked out by the fleet of police vehicles parked outside. Arias was close on her heels, catching up to her quickly. “So what did I do this time?” she asked, managing to sound genuinely confused.

“There’s protocol, Arias. Not to mention professional respect,” Danvers barked out. “Half the cops in that station are waiting for prints, you can’t just call up the mayor and jump the line.”

“Well…you can’t,” she said. “I can. And did. Is it actually professional courtesy, or are you just a little intimidated?”

Danvers paused at the entrance to the building, and gave Arias a long, cool look up and down, before allowing herself a smile. “If you think you intimidate me, Ms Arias, you really don’t know me very well. I just don’t like it when people don’t follow procedure.”

“Do you ever have any fun, detective?” Arias asked, reaching out to open the door. “I’d be happy to show you how.”

“Don’t forget I’m wearing a gun, Arias,” Danvers said, before making her way through. They rode the elevator up in silence, getting out at roof level, which wasn’t like any rooftop the detective had been to before – although it perhaps said something about her life thus far that it was the outdoor pool that was the unusual factor, rather than the dead body floating in it. A step or two behind her, Arias whistled.

“That looks familiar.”

It did, although Danvers didn’t want to admit that she recognised the crime scene as well. Nonetheless, it was straight out of another of Arias’ books, a more-trashy than usual one called _Death of a Prom Queen_. The victim was wearing a yellow ballgown, and lying face down in the pool. The knife that had presumably been used to kill her was still upright in her back. One of the uniformed officers approached, catching her eye.

“She was found about an hour ago – she’s a resident, Kendra Pitney. Nothing more known yet, they were about to get her out.”

“OK,” Danvers said with a nod. “Let’s get on with it then. Arias?” She turned to the other woman, who straightened up, looking eager. “Stay right here. Don’t touch anything. Got it?”

“Got it,” Arias sighed.

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It wasn’t that Sam was contrary by nature. Well. She _was_ contrary by nature, but that wasn’t the issue on this specific occasion; she was simply the victim of her own curiosity and a mischievous delight in pushing Detective Danvers’ buttons. She stood where she had been told for several minutes, good as gold, but the moment Danvers stepped away from the body, Sam made her move, hurrying across to where the medical examiner was hunched over the victim. Sam crouched down next to her, making her own hands free examination.

“And you are?” the ME asked.

“Hey, Sam Arias,” she replied, holding her hand out with a smile. “I’m helping Detective Danvers with the case.”

The other woman raised an eyebrow. “Sam Arias as in the writer, Sam Arias?”

“You got me.”

She looked impressed, and took Sam’s offered hand, shaking it firmly. “Lucy Lane, Medical Examiner. I’ve got to say, your books are impressive, professionally speaking. You know your stuff.”

“Thanks!” Sam said, genuinely pleased. She’d never been afraid to throw out narratively inconvenient facts, but she always did her due diligence before making the decision, and that wasn’t an element reviewers or fans tended to pick up on, positively or otherwise.

“What the hell are you doing?” Both women looked up to see Detective Danvers standing there, hands on hips and an intensely displeased expression on her face, aimed at Sam. “I told you to stay put.”

“You did,” she said with a shrug. “But I got bored.”

Lucy sniggered, and Danvers glared at her. “Have you got anything for me?”

“Not much, not before I get her on the table,” the ME said. “But despite appearances, she wasn’t stabbed.”

Danvers looked at the knife, then back to Lucy, frowning. “You sure about that?”

“There’d be more blood around the wound if she was alive when she was stabbed,” Sam said, quickly. “And foam around the mouth if she’d drowned.”

A muscle ticked in Danvers jaw, but she didn’t look at Sam, keeping her eyes fixed on Lucy, who shrugged. “What she said. She knows her shit. So, killed somewhere else, and then…” she waved her hand at the pool. “All of this.”

“Just like Tilsdale and Fisk,” Sam added. At that, Danvers finally looked at her again.

“This is a homicide, not a day out at the park. If you’re going to be tagging along on this, I expect you to do as you’re told, understood?”

“Then you really don’t know me very well, detective,” Sam replied, grinning. Danvers scowled, but Sam carried on before the detective could say anything. “She’s wearing a yellow dress – it was blue in the book.”

“Can you just – stop talking? For one moment?” Danvers asked, her tone suggesting she knew it was a futile hope.

“Have you found a connection between any of them yet?”

“We only found out Pitney was dead about an hour ago, so no.” Any further questions Sam might have had were forestalled by the sound of Danvers’ phone ringing; she answered, turning away slightly. “Danvers. Down in Parrish? We’ll be right there.” She hung up and looked back at Sam with a look that took the writers breath away; a look of righteous determination. “We got a match on the prints. Kyle Cabot.”

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The fleet of cars screeched to a halt outside Cabot’s building, and officers hurried in, weapons ready. Sam unbuckled her seatbelt, ready to follow, but she froze when Danvers grabbed her shoulder, holding her back. The detective looked at her meaningfully. “This guy is dangerous, Arias. So you’re staying here. I’m not explaining your death to the mayor, got it?”

“Got it,” Arias said, sketching out a scout’s salute. Danvers stared at her for a moment, then nodded. She got out, and hurried into the building herself. Arias sat there for about ten seconds, then got out of the car and sauntered into the building. She’d heard the dispatch officer letting Danvers know that Cabot’s apartment was on the sixth floor, so while the cops were heading up the stairs, she made use of the elevator. She just had time to send a text to Ruby – _Guess who’s going to arrest a serial killer?!_ – before the doors slid open with a ding. She didn’t know which specific apartment was Cabot’s, but she assumed it was the one with the kicked-in door – the building wasn’t exactly swanky, but it wasn’t that bad, either.

There was a flurry of activity inside; it seemed that Cabot wasn’t home, which was giving them all ample opportunity to take in the unusual décor. The coffee table was covered with clippings of articles about her books, and more than a few drawings, mainly of the more graphic scenes. The only books on the shelves - which Danvers was standing by, with her partner, Schott – were ones she had written, and a quick glance suggested Cabot owned multiple copies of at least a few. “Huh. I think this guy paid for my last vacation,” she muttered to herself. Danvers looked up sharply.

“What the hell are you doing in here?”

“Getting a little creeped out, to be honest,” she replied.

“What are you doing in here at all,” Danvers snapped. “I told you to stay put.”

“You told me you didn’t want me to get hurt, and Cabot’s not here, so unless you’re planning on taking a shot at me…”

“Don’t tempt me.”

Sam could see Schott smirking as he watched their back and forth; she didn’t think it was a good idea to draw that to Danvers attention though.

“Danvers!” They all looked over to the other side of the room, where the other detective, Olsen, was standing by the door to a small side room. Sam started to make her way over, only to be halted by Danvers thrusting her arm out, stopping her in her tracks. One warning glare later, and Sam took a grudging step back, allowing Danvers and Schott to take the lead, although she noted with a certain satisfaction that Danvers didn’t bother telling her to stay put this time, whether because she had forgotten or she’d realized it was pointless. That satisfaction vanished as she peeked through the door over Danvers shoulder though.

The stereotypical ‘serial killer shrine’ was a trope that she had used a handful of times in her own work, but she had a feeling she wouldn’t be using it anymore. Seeing a room plastered in photos of herself, some crudely defaced, others half covered with the same sort of drawings scattered around the living area, was a hell of a lot creepier than she would like to admit. To one side, Olsen reached into a storage box, and pulled out a bloodied blouse. There were two bullet holes in it.

“That must be Alison’s,” Danvers said. “He took it as a trophy.”

“There’s a gun, too,” Olsen said, reaching back in.

There was a crash, on the other side of the room. The three detectives whirled round, Olsen dropping the shirt as he drew his pistol. It was coming from a closet, and Danvers approached it carefully. She pulled the door open and stepped back in one smooth motion, readying her own gun. Inside was a youngish man, huddled against the back wall with his hands over his ears, rocking back and forth slightly; a box had fallen over next to him, spilling more photos of Sam out. The writer took an uneasy step back, almost out of the room.

“Kyle Cabot?” Danvers barked. He only responded with a quiet whimper, rocking a bit more vigorously. The detective hesitated, looking to Sam as if she was weighing up her options; after a moment she holstered her gun, taking some cuffs off her belt instead. “Kyle Cabot, I’m placing you under arrest for the murders of…”

Sam stepped out of the room fully to let the uniformed officers assist, although she could still hear everything as Danvers read the man his rights. If she was honest, despite her earlier enthusiasm, catching the guy hadn’t felt satisfying at all. He wasn’t a terrifying boogeyman. He was just…kind of sad.

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And that was that. An open and shut, just like Olsen had wanted. Alex tossed the notes onto her kitchen table with a sigh and sat back, closing her eyes for a moment. Cabot had pervasive developmental disorder which, as Arias had been very quick to point out, often manifested in obsession, explaining his fixation on her and her books. Alison had been his caseworker, and Fisk and Pitney were both regulars at the diner where Cabot had worked part-time. Connection, evidence, and he fit the profile. Arias had been very disappointed at how mundane the final explanation was, and Alex had tried to muster some satisfaction by shooting the writer down with an explanation of how often such cases turned out to be pretty simple – master criminals were not exactly the standard – but in truth, she was disappointed herself. She often was; in all the years she’d been working homicide, nothing had quite validated her long-buried hope that there would be a decent…she scowled, but had to admit, if only to herself, that just like Arias, she wanted a decent story. Something to help her make sense of it all.

The sound of keys in the door made her look up, and her expression softened into a smile as Kara walked in, holding some takeout and wine. Her sister came over to the table and put everything down with a weary groan, before sinking into her own chair.

“Rough day, huh?”

“Are you _sure_ you can’t investigate Snapper for something?”

“I can’t speak for all my colleagues, but I do prefer some more concrete evidence than ‘kind of a jerk’ before getting involved,” Alex said mildly.

“He’s killing me,” Kara said plaintively. “Slowly, cruelly. You’re a homicide detective, you’ve gotta investigate that, right?”

“Hmm…” Alex pretended to think about it. “What’s his motive?”

“He’s a jerk.”

“Opportunity?”

“He literally stands over my desk yelling at me.”

“Evidence?”

“I’m sad,” and she plastered on her most devastating pout. Alex laughed and pulled her in for a hug.

“Sorry, sis, but I don’t think that’s enough for me to go on. I’m happy to go down there and kick his ass though, as your annoyed big sister.”

“No, it’s fine, I’ll just have to fight him off with some decent articles,” Kara grumbled, doing her best impression of a koala as she wrapped her arms around Alex. “How was your day?”

“It was fine. Good, I guess. We got the guy.”

“What? That’s great!” Kara exclaimed, sitting up. “Why aren’t you happier?”

“Well, he got someone else before we caught him. Left her floating in a pool with a knife in her back.”

“Oh my god, that’s awful,” Kara murmured, her grip on Alex’s arm tightening for a moment. “Why was he doing it?”

Alex shook her head. “Obsessive fan with developmental disorder. It’s not…”

“What you were looking for,” Kara finished. Alex supposed she didn’t need to explain her mood more; both the Danvers sisters sought out stories in their own way, after all. “You stopped him, is the main thing. And quickly too.”

“I can’t exactly take the full credit for that,” Alex said with a grimace. “We wouldn’t have found him for a few weeks without Arias pulling some strings.”

“Ooh, tell me about her! Did she live up to the expectation?”

“She’s cocky, smug, and nowhere near as charming as she thinks she is,” Alex said flatly.

“Ah. Still hot though?”

“I value personality, not just looks.”

“So that’s yes then,” Kara smirked. “You gonna ask her out?”

“Absolutely not.”

Kara looked like she was going to tease some more, but she stopped, looking at Alex carefully. “Hey, are you OK?”

Without really thinking about it, Alex found herself looking back at the notes she had abandoned earlier. “It’s just…the system really didn’t do this guy any favors, you know? His caseworker – one of his victims – she was the first person to actually give a damn about him, far as I can see. Got him proper treatment, got him his job…he was improving quite a bit.”

“So what happened?”

Alex shook her head. “Guess the DA can find that out.”

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Sam stared at her cards without really seeing them, her mind on other things. She was vaguely aware of Otto and Sterling sniping at each other across the table, but she’d barely heard a word being said in the last ten minutes or so.

“Sam? Hey, Sammy!”

“Hm?” She looked up, startled, to see everyone staring at her.

“Your bet, Arias,” Plastino prompted her.

“Oh, sorry – miles away,” she said, shuffling her cards. The other writers looked at each other knowingly.

“New book going well then?” Orlando asked, taking a sip of his drink.

“Can’t be, not with that thousand yard stare,” Binder said, sitting back. “It was killing off Queen, right? Big mistake, Sammy.”

“Yeah, you couldn’t get me to kill off Lance short of a gun to my head, and even then…” Gates said. “She’s going to keep my grandkids going through college, long after Olly’s been relegated to the bargain bin.”

“Oh, you know what? I’m calling for that,” Sam snapped. A ripple of amusement ran round the table.

“So come on, Sammy, spit it out, what’s the problem?” Binder asked, sipping his drink.

“It’s…OK.” Sam put her cards face down, leaning in. “I’m working on…well, a thing. There’s a copycat, some guy recreating murders from some books he’s obsessed with. And the writer ends up helping the cops solve the case.”

“You know, self-inserts are probably best left for fanfiction,” Plastino said; Gates burst out laughing.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Sam said, glaring at them. “There’s basically no evidence. No prints, no DNA, nothing…until they’re going through the writer’s fanmail, and they find one talking about those murder scenes with prints all over it, yeah? So they get a match, they track the guy down, and there’s a whole ton of evidence at his apartment.”

“What’s the twist?” Orlando asked, looking intrigued. Sam shrugged.

“There isn’t one. Yet. The guy gets arrested, case closed.”

“…pretty thin, don’t you think?”

“Absolutely!” she said, throwing her hands up in frustration. “I know there’s something missing, but I can’t work out what.”

“Well, the prints for a start,” Gates said. “None at the scene, but a handy letter with them on? How is that not setting up that the guys being framed?”

Sam stared at him for a moment, and then a slow grin spread over her face. “Of course…”

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Danvers was not a morning person by nature, but she had more or less successfully trained herself to be fully operational within seconds of waking up, in part through judicious application of coffee, and generally speaking she didn’t feel the need to caution people against interacting with her first thing. The fact that she wanted to throw her coffee at the woman sitting at her desk spoke volumes, therefore, and only the feeling that Arias would probably just find it funny prevented her from voicing the sentiment. She did march over and snatch the file out of her hand though.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Arias shrugged. “Being nosy. Bad habit that all novelists have, trust me.”

“Well don’t indulge it in a police station, OK?” Danvers snapped. “What are you doing here? We solved the case, you’re done.”

“Sure. I just wanted to give you this,” Arias said, reaching down to a bag by Danvers’ chair, and pulling out a gift-wrapped parcel. Danvers frowned, taken off guard. “Go on, take a look.”

Danvers took it, slitting the wrapping open carefully. She couldn’t keep her shock concealed. “Your latest book…this doesn’t come out for a month.”

“Advance copy,” Arias said, smiling. “Signed as well. Not that you’d really care about that, I’m sure.”

“I…thank you,” Danvers said, mostly genuinely. “That’s actually really nice of you.”

“I have my moments,” the writer said. For a moment, she looked a little uncomfortable. “Well…it was nice to make your acquaintance, detective.” She leaned in, and Danvers froze, stunned, as the writers lips grazed her cheek. Her perfume was incredible. “I’ll see you around?”

“Unlikely,” Danvers stammered after a moment to collect her thoughts. Arias grinned, and walked away, her heels clicking on the cold floor of the station. Danvers watched her go before sitting down, fighting the urge to start reading immediately. It was an unexpected and somewhat unnecessary gesture – she had long since pre-ordered her copy. Maybe the writer wasn’t so bad after all, for all her cockiness, disobedience and apparent tendency to leaf through confidential…

Danvers froze. “She didn’t.” She scrabbled for the file she had snatched back from Arias, turning the pages frantically. Several were missing.

“Oh, she _did_!”

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“Samantha Arias, you are under arrest for felony, theft and obstruction of justice!”

Sam smirked to herself before spinning round in her seat to watch Detective Danvers storm through the National City Public Library towards her, her face set furiously. The librarian she had ignored at the desk stood up, outraged at the disturbance, and other patrons started to appear at the ends of aisles, eavesdropping shamelessly. “And for making you look bad, right?”

“You know, you _almost_ had me convinced that you were actually a vaguely decent person,” Danvers snapped as she drew to a halt, her cuffs already in hand. “Hands out.”

Sam put her wrists together, looking up at Danvers with her best doe eyes. “My safeword is ‘taxes’. How’d you find me anyway?”

“I’m a detective, Arias, I detected.”

“It was Lena, right?” Sam said, standing up. “By the way, the roses on Alison Tilsdale’s body? They were grandiflora, not hybrid teas.”

“Thanks for that insight, Arias, I’ll make sure it’s mentioned in court,” Danvers said, snapping the cuffs shut with a satisfied expression.

“Oh, you absolutely should – it means Cabot is innocent, and I know you wouldn’t want an innocent man going to jail, right?”

The flicker of concerned doubt on the detective’s face made the pending gossip columns 100% worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sort of fun fact: one of the ways I 'cast' the Castle role was to try out the "felony, theft and obstruction of justice" line with different characters to see which one sounded best.


	3. Flowers for your Grave 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final part of the first 'episode'. Hope you enjoy!

It was hardly unusual for Sam to be found in handcuffs, but this was the first time Ruby had been around for it. She flashed her daughter a slightly awkward smile as the uniformed officer unlocked the steel bands, but Ruby just stared at her disapprovingly through the glass. Once released, Sam made her way into the captain’s office, where Ruby was waiting with Lena and Captain Jones.

“Hello, mother,” Ruby said in her sternest tones.

“Ooh, mother,” Sam said, reaching out to ruffle Ruby’s hair. She was pleased to find that Ruby didn’t duck away; she wasn’t _that_ mad then. “I really screwed up this time, didn’t I?”

“She’ll get used to it, I’m sure,” Lena drawled, smirking at Sam. “I’m surprised she isn’t already.”

“To be fair, I usually do a better job of keeping my indiscretions quiet,” she replied, looking apologetically at Ruby; she just rolled her eyes. “I see you’ve both met the good captain.”

“And he has very graciously agreed to drop the charges,” Lena said with a satisfied smile.

“So long as you stop interfering with this case, Ms Arias,” Captain Jones added, severely. “Is that understood?”

“Absolutely,” Sam said, idly wondering just how much of the Luthor glare Lena had needed to utilise to get her out of this particular jam scot-free. “Although…I stand by what I told Danvers. Cabot’s not your guy.”

“Honey, please learn when to quit,” Lena muttered, standing up and grabbing her arm to drag her away. Ruby followed, smirking.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Danvers watched the trio go out of the corner of her eye, before returning her attention to the murder board, still set up by her desk. It would normally have been taken down at this point in the investigation, all the notes and thoughts compiled as hard copies to be submitted. And yet…

“Oh come on,” Olsen said from behind her. “Please don’t tell me you’re actually listening to her?”

“Of course I’m not,” Danvers snapped. “I’m listening to the evidence.”

“The evidence that says we got our guy, well done?”

“The evidence that says Fisk was a customer at the diner where Cabot worked; so was Pitney. Alison though?” Danvers shook her head. “Never set foot in there. He goes from murdering someone who’s basically a stranger, to someone he knows well, to another stranger? That makes no psychological sense.”

“Well…yeah,” Olsen said, sitting down. “Because he’s a psycho.”

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If there was one thing Samantha Arias liked, it was a captive audience, and short of illegal measures, you didn’t get much more captive than fellow passengers in a town car moving through National City traffic. Lena and Ruby did not seem as thrilled with the situation, but Sam wasn’t going to let that stop her theorizing. “It’s a set up. Someone who knew he was obsessed with me. We’re not looking for a serial killer, just your common-or-garden murderer – someone with motive.”

“So…what, you think the victims were related?” Ruby asked, a little grudgingly. Sam shook her head.

“Nah, that would have shown up by now. No, if this was one of my books – ”

“Which, lest we forget, it isn’t,” Lena interjected.

“But if it were, _shut up_ , the killer would have had one particular victim in mind. The others…they’re misdirection.”

“That’s awful,” Ruby said, her eyes wide. “How can you get away with murder by murdering more people?”

“Well that’s the thing,” Sam said, warming to her theme. “One murder, your first question is why? What’s the motive? Two murders…what’s the connection – do they know each other, that sort of thing. Three though, and you don’t need a motive, because you’re looking for a psycho.”

Lena shook her head. “And I thought quantum physics was complicated.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Olsen looked like he needed a beer, but Danvers didn’t let up, now pacing back and forth in front of the murder board. “Cabot is obsessed with Arias and her books, but the details don’t add up – the wrong roses on Alison’s body, Fisk strangled, not suffocated, Kendra in a yellow dress, not blue.”

“Maybe the store was out of blue dresses,” Olsen said with a sigh.

“Then he wouldn’t have done it,” she said. “If the point is to obsessively recreate fictional murders, the details would have been essential.”

“OK, fine,” Olsen said, throwing his hands up in defeat. “So who was it?”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“It would have to have been someone who knew Kyle and the main victim well,” Sam mused, more to herself than the others. “That’s gotta be Alison Tilsdale; she was the only one who knew anything about him.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“Alison,” Danvers said, taking her photo off the board. “She was the crucial one.”

“Well…no partner that we’ve heard about,” Olsen said. “And none of her other patients fit the profile.”

“What about the family?”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“So why did someone want Alison dead? Danvers didn’t dig up anything interesting about her,” Sam finished, frowning in thought.

Ruby sighed. “I don’t think my allowance is going to stretch to bailing you out again, mom.”

“Don’t worry, mine will,” Lena said cheerfully.

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Sam strolled into Tilsdale Management bright and early the next morning, dressed to impress. She headed straight to the reception desk, flashing the receptionist her sunniest smile. “Hi there, Sam Arias. I’ve got an appointment with Mr Tilsdale.”

“Of course, Ms Arias,” she said. “Go right on up, he’s expecting you.”

“Well isn’t that interesting?”

Sam took a moment to gather herself before turning around to meet Danvers’ gaze, but the detective just flashed her badge at the receptionist before walking to the elevator herself.

“I have a perfectly reasonable explanation for this, I swear,” Sam called after her.

“Yeah? You can tell me on the way up,” Danvers said, nodding her head in invitation. Sam blinked, then grinned and hurried to join her.

Jonathan Tilsdale’s office didn’t seem like it would have been a particularly welcoming place at the best of times. Now though, an oppressive, melancholy atmosphere stifled the room even further. Tilsdale himself looked half-broken, to Sam’s eyes, as he sat at his desk, looking at a picture of his daughter. He himself featured in a variety of other pictures around the office, looking quite different to his current state.

“Did she say anything about feeling threatened? Anyone who she was scared of?”

“Never,” he said with a shake of his head. “Everyone loved her. She just wanted to help people, to make things better for them. I went over this already, Detective Danvers.”

“I know, sir, I’m sorry, we’re just following up,” she assured him.

“Was there anyone who could have profited from her death?” Sam asked. Tilsdale finally looked up, but his face was more or less blank. Not because he was hiding anything, if Sam was any judge; just that there was nothing to show.

“I’m rich, Ms Arias. Alison wasn’t, even though she could have been. What money she did have, she gave away.”

“Thank you, Mr Tilsdale,” Danvers said, standing up, but Sam held her ground.

“Mr Tilsdale, Fortune Magazine puts you at about one hundred million dollars. Is that right?”

“I…suppose so, yes,” he said. “I don’t exactly track it day to day, but I’ve been lucky, certainly.”

Danvers looked like she was about to physically drag Sam out of there, but she managed to slip in one more question before that happened. “And…I’m sorry to ask, but what if something happens to you? What happens then?”

He started to run his hand over his hair, before pausing and lowering his hand. “Half of it to a charitable foundation that I set up years ago. The rest to my children.” He closed his eyes, and let out a sigh. “My son, I mean.”

“Thank you, Mr Tilsdale,” Sam said quietly. “We appreciate your time.”

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Alex waited until they were out of the building before venting her frustrations. “What the hell was all that about, Arias?” She shouldn’t have indulged the writer, she thought to herself, but given that they would have been casually proceeding with the prosecution of Kyle Cabot without Arias’ persistence, she’d felt she owed the other woman a little. What a mistake to make.

“He’s dying,” Arias said casually, putting her hands into her coat pockets.

Alex blinked, blindsided by the statement. “What? Wait, who? Him?”

Arias looked around, and immediately perked up. “Hotdogs! You want one?” She immediately started to head over to the stand on the other side of the street, but Alex snapped her arm out, grabbing her by the ear and tugging. “OW! Taxes, damn it, taxes!”

“Answer the question, Arias,” she said.

“Alright, alright.” The writer straightened up, rubbing her ear and pouting. “Did you see the pictures in his office? He’s lost weight. A lot of weight. And not like he’s been dieting, or working out.”

“He’s bereaved, that has an effect,” Alex pointed out.

“True, but did you see him touch his hair, and stop? And the make-up?”

“He was wearing make up?” Alex paused, considering. “You think he’s trying to look healthier than he is?”

“Well, can’t have the board sensing weakness, can we?” Arias said, looking pleased with herself.

“OK, fine, he’s sick – doesn’t mean he’s dying.”

“But wouldn’t it be good if he is?” Arias paused, considered her words. “For the story, I mean. Not for him. Obviously.”

“Obviously…” she agreed, looking balefully at the writer. “Maybe we need to take another pass at the brother.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Harrison Tilsdale’s office was a lot less oppressive than his fathers, although much less organised to go with that. The desk was covered in precarious stacks of paper and half-drunk cups of coffee, and one wall was covered with whiteboards filled with information and notes that made no sense to Alex right now. She was sure they would by the end of the case. Arias, she noted, seemed to be looking around the room with something like approval, and it wasn’t difficult to image the writer’s own office looking similarly chaotic. Leaning against the desk, in a gap in the paperwork, Harrison was lost in thought.

“I guess…about a month ago? Family get-together, not a special event or anything.” He shook his head. “I still can’t get my head around it, you know? Alison’s just…gone.”

“Were the two of you close?” Alex asked.

“Oh, everyone loved her,” he said expansively. “She always saw the best in people, you know? Even that…the guy who killed her.” His expression darkened. “She did so much to help him. Even tried to get him a job here, if you can believe that.”

“You didn’t help him?” Arias interjected.

He shook his head again. “No way. I can’t take a risk on someone like that, not in my line of work – I can’t afford people screwing up, because that’s all on my head. But…maybe if I had, he might not have…”

“You can’t blame yourself like that, Mr Tilsdale,” Alex said, prompting a surprised look from Arias. She ignored the other woman for the moment. “You couldn’t have known. How did your sister take it when your father told you the bad news? That he’s dying?”

He blinked at her, like he hadn’t expected that line of enquiry. “Well, she was devastated. We both were, obviously.”

“But now your inheritance has doubled,” Arias said, and Alex rolled her eyes. She’d thought a writer would have wanted to savor the meeting.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harrison asked icily.

“Cabot will lawyer up, Mr Tilsdale,” Alex said soothingly, “and the first thing they’ll hit us with is your inheritance. Money’s a great motive, after all, and if I’m up there on the stand, not able to explain why we didn’t cover this…well, the jury’ll wonder. And we don’t want that, do we?”

“Hm. I see. Well, fair enough,” he said, looking calmer.

“So if you don’t mind me asking,” Alex continued, “can you confirm your whereabouts the night your sister was killed?”

“Of course,” he said, standing up and moving around to the other side of his desk. “I was actually out of the country on business.” He opened a drawer and took out his passport, holding it out to her. “As it happens, I was abroad for all three of the murders.”

Arias’ face fell; Alex kept her own carefully blank. “I see.” She took the passport anyway, flicking through it to verify the stamps. Sure enough, they were present and correct, different countries for all three. She handed it back with a smile. “That’s great, Harrison. This is going to play really well in court, I promise.”

“If it helps get that bastard put away…” he said.

“Oh, it will. Thank you for your time.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“I can’t believe it, I was so sure it was him!” Sam said despondently as she and Danvers walked back to the car. It had been so perfect – the brother in line to inherit millions, you couldn’t ask for a better suspect. Or story. “A stamped U.S passport.”

“The perfect alibi, right?” Danvers replied, not looking at her. “Don’t take it so hard, Arias. You’re just a writer, after all.”

Sam stopped dead. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked suspiciously. Was that a smile on the detective’s lips?

“Oh, nothing,” Danvers said. It was definitely a smile.

“Come on, tell me!” Sam whined, earning herself an actual look of amusement from the other woman.

“Seriously? He’s obviously lying. Sure, I’d definitely remember where I was if something happened to my sister, fine, but Fisk and Pitney? He didn’t know them from Adam, why the hell would he know, immediately and without even checking a diary, that he was abroad for their murders? Innocent people usually have alibis, but not prepared like that.”

“So what you’re saying is that I was right?”

“Get in the car, Arias,” Danvers said with a shake of her head. It was a quick trip back to the station, with Danvers ignoring Sam for the duration while she called ahead to the station, tasking Detective Schott with checking the flight details. He was still on the phone when they arrived, Olsen leaning against his desk, clearly anticipating the results as much as Sam herself.

“Come on, just say it!” Sam tried again, close on Danvers heels. The redhead shook her head.

“No way. You bought every word he was saying.” She went and stood by Olsen, who had looked up, amused, at their argument; she bumped shoulders with her fellow detective, finally breaking out into a grin, the first one Sam had seen on her. “Harrison totally fooled her.”

“A momentary lapse in faith,” Sam said defensively, drawing a chuckle from Olsen. Before either of the detectives could make further comment, Schott hung up the phone and spun round in his chair, looking less satisfied than Sam might have hoped.

“Card company confirm it; Tilsdale bought tickets for all three flights…and used his card out of the country.”

“So…wait, now I’m wrong again?” Sam asked, confused.

“That does seem more likely than forged stamps,” Danvers said, her amusement gone. “Olsen, call passport control and check – ”

“Wait!” Sam exclaimed, struck by sudden inspiration. The three detectives looked at her, Danvers with faint irritation, Olsen and Schott with expressions that suggested they wanted popcorn.

“Well, Sammie?” Danvers prompted.

“The stamps aren’t forged, he’s got a second passport.”

Danvers looked sceptical. “They’re not that easy to get hold of…”

“They would be with his money.”

“So he flies out on his legit one,” Olsen said, “then comes back in on the fake one.”

“Does a quick murder, back to the airport, flies out again,” Schott continued.

“And then back in on his real one making the perfect alibi,” Danvers finished.

“And the perfect murder,” Sam added. “I’m impressed – can I use this for a book?”

“No,” Danvers said. “We need that passport – he’s gotta be panicking after our meeting.”

“We’ll get some eyes on him,” Schott said. “You get the warrant.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sam knew that Danvers had been a little pissed off about the finger print thing, even if she thought the detective was being a little silly about it, but she didn’t think Danvers would complain about this. When Sam had realised that Judge Markaway was going to be responsible for signing off on the warrant, she had immediately launched into her own supporting explanation, drawing on a bond formed over far too many friendly wagers by the basketball court. It had definitely expedited proceedings significantly…but on the other hand, it had taken precious time for him to stop gossiping about the Lakehawks chances this season and actually focus, so by the time they left the judge’s office, Tilsdale had left his warehouse. They pulled up across the street from his apartment building a few minutes later, Schott, Olsen and a few other officers waiting for them.

“Turns out that Tilsdale owes a _lot_ of money,” Schott told them, the moment they were out of the car. “Like, millions. It’s a miracle his business is still open.”

“With Alison’s share of the inheritance, he can probably pay it off and still be one of the richest men in the city,” Sam said.

“Yeah, that’s the kind of motive you’d kill for, all right,” Danvers agreed, tilting her head back to look up the building, her hands on her hips. She frowned, then shot a troubled look at Sam. “Look, Arias. This guys killed three times already, and he’s gotta be freaking out right now. It’ll be dangerous in there. If you’re coming in, you should be armed.”

“Of course!” Sam said, a shiver of excitement running through her. She honestly hadn’t thought Danvers would let her see this through to the bitter end. The detective nodded towards the car.

“Fine. My back-up piece is in the glove compartment.”

Sam scrambled to grab it, one hand on the door frame for support. But the glove compartment was empty. “Hey, you sure it’s – ”

There was a _click_ , and cold metal wrapped around her wrist. She turned her head to find herself cuffed to the car, and a delighted smirk on Danvers’ face. “Or you could just hang out here, that’s fine too. See you in a bit, Arias.” And with that, the detectives hurried into the building.

“Oh come on! Seriously?” Sam called after them, but they ignored her. As they vanished, she grunted, and reached her free hand into her coat pocket. “If she thinks this is the first time I’ve ever had to break myself out of a pair of cuffs…” she muttered to herself, retrieving her purse and fumbling inside. She couldn’t be the only person in National City who habitually carried around handcuff keys, right? She went to unlock the cuffs, and missed the lock. Scraping against the metal, the key slipped from her fingers, and to the street outside. She stared at it balefully. Typical.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

This was a good afternoon, Alex felt as she strode towards Harrison’s apartment, Olsen and Schott trailing her. Their presence was familiar, comforting, and a lot more welcome than the shadow she had had for the last couple of days, however useful the writer had turned out to be in the end. But now that she finally had the frustrating woman put firmly in her place, and her suspect dead to rights, Alex was beginning to feel like the whole mess had been worth it. The building was quiet, the other residents apparently still at work, and as she came to a halt outside the apartment, she could just about hear the faint whir of a shredder. It stopped as she hammered on the door. “Harrison Tilsdale! This is the NCPD, open up!”

There was a moment’s silence, then a faint response. “One second!” She rolled her eyes at Olsen, who shook his head. The shredder didn’t start up again, but as she listened carefully, she could hear Harrison moving around. “Come on, Harrison, we have a warrant.” There was no response this time, and Alex stepped back, nodding to Olsen. He was a big man, and he knew what he was doing; the door was open in a flash, the lock splintering . The detectives and supporting officers swarmed into the apartment, guns ready, but of Harrison Tilsdale, there was no sign.

“Where the hell did he go?” Schott muttered. Alex started to shake her head, before her phone began to ring.

“Fire escape! He’s coming down the fire escape!” Arias yelled when she answered.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sam winced as she scrapped the key back towards her with the heel of her shoe; they weren’t the Louboutins that Lena favored, but they weren’t exactly cheap either, and the rough treatment wouldn’t do them much good. Still, the key was back in her hand, and with a flourish, she unlocked the cuffs. As she climbed out of the car, movement caught her eye down an alley over the way – the instantly recognisable figure of Harrison Tilsdale, looking a lot less put together than he had earlier that day, coming down the fire escape. “Hey!” Sam yelled, and reached for her phone. He looked up, and started to move quicker. Danvers hung up the moment she finished talking, and Sam started to head towards the alley, jumping back a pace as a car skidded to . Harrison jumped over the rail, landing in a dumpster; the case he was carrying burst open, papers scattering everywhere. At the top of the escape, Danvers was climbing out of the window, gun in one hand.

“Harrison Tilsdale! Stay where you are, and put your hands on your head!”

He fell out of the dumpster more than climbed, stumbling a little, but quickly made his way further down the alley; as Sam broke into a run following him, Danvers started making her own way down the fire escape. Sam nearly tripped getting into the alley, and muttering under her breath, she kicked her heels aside, praying that there wasn’t any broken glass around.

“Arias, get back!” Danvers yelled above her, but Sam didn’t look up, just waving her hand dismissively at the detective.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ve got him!”

“Arias – god _damn_ it.”

The alley turned a corner to the rear of the building, and Sam slowed as she went round. Where it had been basically empty before, now there were a couple of parked-up trucks, and Harrison was nowhere to be seen. She weighed her options quickly; stay back and wait for Danvers, or head on and find Harrison herself? He hadn’t seemed that tough when they’d met earlier…shrugging to herself, she made her way past the first truck, ears pricked for the slightest sign of life. As she drew past it, she heard a rustling sound in the garbage bags stacked on the other side of the alley; she whirled to face it, and breathed out in relief when a cat scurried away.

Then something cold and metallic pressed against her back.

“Oh…”

“Why couldn’t you have left things along?” Harrison whined, grabbing her arm and pulling her close to him. “It was perfect!”

“Well…it wasn’t. Obviously,” Sam said. “Otherwise we’d have bought it completely.”

“Shut up!” He yelled, starting to move, dragging her with him. The gun moved away from her back, slipping in and out of her vision at the corner of her eye. “Gotta get away…”

“I think you might be seriously overthinking my value as a hostage, Harrison,” Sam muttered, but he wasn’t listening. They were nearly at the end of the alley when another voice echoed out.

“Stop, Harrison!”

He did, dragging Sam in front of him, waving the gun vaguely near her head, letting her get an even better look at it. It was funny, she thought, the things that stood out to you in moments of danger. She could see the serial number, plain as anything, and the oil stains where he hadn’t wiped it down properly after cleaning – when had he used it, she wondered? And…

“Arias, you OK?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, fine. I’ve had people get handsier at meet and greets, this is nothing.”

“Shut up!” he barked. “And you, stay back! I’ll kill her, I swear!”

“OK, OK…let’s just take it easy, Harrison…” Danvers said, lowering her gun a little. “There’s no need for anyone else to get hurt.”

“He’s killed three people, Danvers,” Sam called, “I don’t think number four is going to bother him that much.”

“Arias, can you please stop talking for once?”

“Since I’m here,” Sam continued, ignoring the detective,” I’ve gotta ask – why not get the money from your dad, huh? Killing Alison can’t have been your first and only plan, and it would barely have made a dent in his fortune, even if he ended up taking it out of your inheritance.”

Harrison jabbed the gun tighter against her head, and she grunted. Danvers took a quick step forward.

“Or maybe you did…” she carried on. “Yeah, that’s it, right? You did, and he turned you away. He didn’t just refuse, did he? No, he made his money himself, worked his way up from nothing. His son, coming begging for a handout? I bet he was disgusted, wasn’t he? I bet he was appalled that a child of his would even _need_ to ask – ”

“He would have done it for her,” Harrison finally snapped. “All our lives, she got everything she asked for, and I got _nothing_! All I was trying to do was keep my business going, _mine_ , I built it all, and he didn’t care! He didn’t ever care!”

“That’s it…” Sam breathed. “It wasn’t the money, not entirely. You wanted to ruin him before he died.” She looked up at Danvers. “That’s actually better than I thought it was going to be. You sure I can’t use this in a book?”

“Arias…” Danvers was edging closer, slowly but surely. She wasn’t sure whether Harrison had noticed or not, in his frenzy. “Let her go. There’s nowhere to run, not now. It’s over.”

“No! It’s not over, not while I’ve got her! You think I don’t know who she is?” Harrison snapped. “You think I don’t know who she is? You don’t want to go down as the woman who got a famous writer killed!”

“I mean…if you’re gonna kill me, you might want to take the safety off your pistol,” Sam said, grinning at Danvers. There was a moments silence, and out of the corner of her eye she saw the pistol tilt away; she seized her chance, throwing her head backwards into his. He cried out in pain, releasing his grip on her and staggering back. She moved out of the way as Danvers charged, throwing him to the ground. He dropped the gun, and Sam gently kicked it away as Danvers pulled Harrison’s arms behind his back. “You saw that, right?” she asked the detective in excitement, adrenaline still thrumming through her. “That’ll go in the report?”

“Could you maybe do something useful like hand me my cuffs?” Danvers grunted. “Or is bragging that much more important?”

“Oh, sure.” She had honestly forgotten they were still around her wrist; she unsnapped them and handed them over. Once they were safely on Harrison’s, Danvers stood up and glared at Sam.

“When did you notice the safety was on?”

“Oh, about when you showed up. He was waving it around quite a bit,” Sam said casually.

“When I…” Danvers sighed, and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Did it not occur to you to mention that?”

“That wouldn’t have been as fun,” she replied with a grin.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

By the time Arias was cleared by the paramedic, Harrison was being driven off, secure in the back of a patrol car. The writer made her way over to Alex looking surprisingly unruffled for someone who had recently been held at gun point, even if she had known that the chance of actually being shot was slim to none. She hadn’t actually wanted to be checked over, but Alex had insisted. She drew level with Alex, and leaned against the wall of the building, ostentatiously casually, as if she were posing for a photoshoot. It was probably designed to impress Alex, to show off the writers best assets, and the detective had to admit, Arias looked good.

“Well. Guess we got our man, detective,” Arias said after a moment, watching the patrol car turn the corner.

“Guess so,” Alex agreed, folding her arms. “Took a little longer than I’d hoped, but we got there.” She should thank the writer. It was the polite thing to do, and despite Arias’ attitude, she had helped. A lot. She took a deep breath, bracing herself to utter the words of gratitude.

“So. Maybe we could grab dinner and, ah, debrief each other?” Arias said with a wink.

Alex shook her head, the words dying in her throat. “Do you ever stop looking for the next conquest, Arias?”

“Do you ever start?” she countered. Alex had to admit, Arias had a point with that…but nevertheless, she stepped away. Arias shrugged, looking accepting.

“Despite everything, Arias…nice to meet you.” She held her hand out to shake. Arias took it in a firm grip, smiling at her.

“It was nice to meet you too. Too bad though. I think it would have been great.”

Alex allowed herself a grin, and looked the writer up and down before leaning in, close enough that her breath would be hot against her ear. “Trust me. You have _no_ idea.”

And with that, she walked away, allowing a little sway to enter her stride. She didn’t look back.

Three weeks passed.

Cases came, and cases went. Nothing out of the ordinary, as such things went, although if Alex found herself considering some more unusual possibilities than she might have done a month ago, well. No-one else had to know that. Arias had not come back to the station, the mayor seemed happy – and so Captain Jones was happy – and Alex had devoured the final Oliver Queen book in two sittings. It had been a worthy end to the franchise, sorry as she was to see it end. And then, one fine morning, she entered the precinct, and was immediately summoned to the captain’s office.

“Well. It seems Ms Arias was quite taken with you, detective,” he started, in his firm but always soothing tones.

“Oh trust me, sir, I’m aware.”

He chuckled. “Not quite what I meant. Apparently you’ve inspired her. Her next book is going to be about a, ah…” he looked down at a note pad on his desk. “Yes, a ‘tough but savvy female detective’.”

Alex blinked. “Seriously? She’s basing a book on me? That’s…actually kind of flattering.” She would have been lying if she said otherwise. She’d rearranged her bookshelves a little after taking her collection of Arias’ work down for case research, but she could definitely find room for a copy of that.

“Well I’m glad you see it that way, detective,” the captain said. “Because she wants this book to be a bit more authentic than the Queen series.”

“More authentic?” Alex asked, confused. “What’s that supposed to…no.” She shook her head vehemently as the penny dropped. “No, sir, you can’t be serious.”

“I’m afraid so, Alex,” he said. He did not sound as sympathetic as he professed to be. “Research. She’s going to be shadowing you while she works on it.”

“Captain, she is…” Alex paused for a moment, trying to gather all the objectionable things about Arias that she could. “She can’t or won’t follow instructions, she’s smug, she’s immature, she’s unprofessional, she’s – ” She broke off. The captain had a very carefully straight face on, his eyes not quite meeting hers. They were looking slightly behind her. With a rising sense of resignation, Alex turned in her chair. Arias was strolling through the bullpen, greeting some of the officers she’d already met like she’d known them for years. “She’s…”

“Already spoken to the mayor, I’m afraid.”

She turned back to him. “How long am I going to be stuck with her?”

Jones shrugged. “Guess that’s up to her.”

Alex looked back out into the bullpen. Arias had taken a seat by her desk, and was chatting amiably with Schott and Olsen, who both looked absolutely delighted with the new turn of events. As if she could feel Alex’s eyes on her, Arias turned to look at her. She smiled, and held up a coffee, Detective Danvers scrawled on the side. Alex sighed. She had a feeling it was going to take more than coffee to get through this new partnership.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback, general comments and kudos are always appreciated. If you liked this, why not try out my longer work, 'Alien Angel of National City'? I'm also on tumblr, with the same username.
> 
> I think the general outline I'm going to go with for this is three 'episodes' per season of Castle, the first and last, and one random one for fun. I haven't quite decided which one I'll do next though...


	4. Hell Hath No Fury: 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is both later and earlier than I'd thought it would be - later in that I'd intended to work on it much sooner, but earlier in that I didn't actually start writing this until earlier today, so...pretty hot off the press, admittedly, but what the hell.
> 
> Quick warning - there's a very brief allusion to sexual assault near the end of the italicised section, in the context of someone questioning whether that's what they're dealing with (it isn't)

**Hell Hath No Fury part 1**

Alex threw herself onto her sister’s couch with a contented sigh, burrowing into the cushions as much as she could. Now out of sight in the kitchen area, Kara let out an amused snort. “Tough day solving crimes?”

“Tough day doing paperwork,” Alex replied, her voice muffled. “Always the worst part of the job.”

“Well, at least it’s granting you perspective on other things,” Kara said, popping open another beer and heading over to the couch herself. She poked at her sister’s legs for a moment, trying to get her move; Alex only held out for a moment or two before letting her sit down, rolling over to lay her legs over Kara’s lap. She took the offered beer with a smile of gratitude, took a swig, then frowned as Kara’s comment caught up with her.

“Perspective on what?”

“Well, if paperwork’s back to being the worst part of the job, then presumably you’re feeling better about Arias?”

Alex groaned, long and hard, and pulled a cushion over her face. Kara laughed gleefully. “Come on, she can’t be that bad – Lucy likes her, right?”

“Lucy’s a traitor with no taste,” Alex grumbled. “Did she tell you about…”

“Safe to assume she did, yeah,” Kara confirmed, and Alex sighed.

_It had only been their second case together, Arias’ first as ‘official consultant’, a job title which still made Alex seethe. A young woman had been found dead in a washing machine, in the building where she was employed as a nanny. Much as Alex had tried to keep Arias out of the case, it had been in vain – largely, it seemed, because Captain Jones found the whole situation pretty funny. Her first trip to the morgue had not got off to a promising start, and Alex felt sure things wouldn’t improve._

_“You know, I always kinda thought you just – you know, stood around cracking jokes, smoking, eating…gallows humor, right?” Arias said as she put on the medical gown and goggles. Alex took some comfort in the fact that even the glamorous, wealthy writer couldn’t make those garments look good._

_“You’ve been watching too much bad TV, Arias,” she told her, folding her arms over her own gown. “We actually try for a little thing called sensitivity, you heard of it?”_

_“Of course,” Arias said. “For example, I’m sensitive to the fact that you’re annoyed.”_

_Before Alex could throw out another biting remark, Lucy cleared her throat pointedly, drawing their attention to the body: Sarah Manning, a blonde in her mid-20s, pretty but very dead. Alex headed over to join Lucy, Arias close at her heels. “Sorry, Lucy – what have you got for us?”_

_“Well, head trauma is obvious,” Lucy said, pointing at the wound, “although it wasn’t enough to kill her outright, unfortunately. It caused major cerebral haemorrhaging. Going by the other forensic evidence from the scene, I’d say the bleach bottle was the weapon, but then she fell forward and hit her head on the table. If someone had called an ambulance right away…” she shrugged. “Not a great chance, but non-zero. Without medical attention though? No way she got up from that. But that’s not the interesting thing though – she’d had sex within the last hour of her life.”_

_“Sex?” Alex repeated, a little startled. The paper gown rustled as Arias leaned in a little._

_“I can explain that to you later.”_

_Lucy smirked, then quickly looked away from Alex. “Might even have been within minutes – the heat from the dryer complicates things.”_

_“So…assault?” Alex asked carefully. Lucy, thankfully, shook her head._

_“I don’t think so – I’m not saying a definite no, but there’s no sign of the usual evidence. There were traces of spermicide though; the guy wore a condom.”_

_“A condom?”_

_“Wow, it really has been a long time for you, hasn’t it?” Arias muttered. This time, Lucy laughed outright._

When Alex looked up, Kara was clearly biting back laughter of her own, so Alex grabbed the cushion and leaned up to hit her with it, which only made her sister laughed harder. “Why do I keep associating with any of you?” Alex muttered, leaning back again.

“Because even you need a couple of people to unwind with from time to time,” Kara said. “And for me at least, because you love me.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“I don’t need to – it’s obvious,” she replied, looking smug. Alex didn’t respond, because in all honesty, it was obvious. Kara was one of the only people she still let her walls down with – even Lucy, good friend though she was (usually) only really knew a carefully edited version of herself. There were times Alex regretted that. “Is she really that bad though?” Kara continued, her amusement shifting to gentle concern.

“Who, Lucy? No, not really I guess.”

“I meant Arias, dummy.”

“Oh. She’s…yes.” It wasn’t entirely honest, Alex admitted in the privacy of her own head. Certainly, the writer was smug, and annoying, and full of herself, but…

“I thought you said she was the one who spotted the time difference in the elevator ride?” Kara said.

“She spotted it first,” Alex said defensively. “We’d have spotted it too, we just had other things to focus on that she didn’t.”

“Sure, but it still lead you in the right direction, right? Helped you catch the nanny’s killer?”

“I’d remind you that Arias ended up being completely wrong about who the killer was, then.”

“And those kids in the park?” Kara continued. “You said she was the one who spotted the thread with the linked videos, right?”

“All that says to me is that Arias probably does her own shady stuff involving cameras,” Alex shot back, before blushing when she realised what she’d said.

“Is that something you spend a lot of time thinking about?” Kara asked with a grin.

“Bite me,” Alex muttered. “Yes, fine, she’s been helpful. She’s still an asshole.”

“It’s only been a few weeks,” Kara pointed out. “Maybe she’ll grow on you.” When Alex only grunted in response, Kara carried on. “I could dig into her a little, see if CatCo’s got any hidden dirt you could use to get rid of her?”

Alex laughed. “I appreciate it, but the idea of Samantha Arias having any dirt she’s actually ashamed of doesn’t seem likely. Very much the opposite, I’m afraid…”

* * *

Paperwork continued, as it tended to. Arias had not, thus far, been overly interested in researching that side of policework, and had made herself scarce for a few days, which Alex certainly wasn’t going to complain about. So when she arrived at the precinct one Thursday morning to discover the writer sitting casually at Alex’s own desk, sipping a coffee, she had to bite back an unpleasant remark. Instead, she sat down, flashed Arias a tight smile, and got out some files.

“You know, this is probably the worst coffee I’ve ever tasted,” Arias said in thoughtful tones. Alex ignored her, focusing on getting her files ready. “It’s kind of fascinating, actually, it’s…hmm. I wanna say…monkey pee mixed with battery acid. What do you think, too much? As a metaphor, I mean.”

“I thought you were here to research policework, not stylistic choices,” Alex said, then paused. “Speaking of you being here…isn’t your book out today?”

“What about it?” Arias replied, looking a little shifty.

“So don’t you have more important things to be doing? Other places to be?”

“I like it here…”

Alex grinned as realisation dawned, spinning her chair to face her full on. “Oh my god – you’re nervous. You’re nervous and you’re hiding because you’ve got a book out.”

“I am not hiding,” Arias said, gesturing with the coffee cup. “If I was hiding, I’d be at home drinking scotch and wrapped in a blanket – but I’m told that’s unhealthy.”

“And here I was, thinking you didn’t care what people think of you,” Alex said with a gleeful smile.

“I don’t. Much.”

Alex leaned back in her chair, running through a few choice jabs she could make, but before she could speak her phone rang. She scowled at it, but answered anyway. “Danvers. I’m on my way.”

“Ooh, dead body?” Arias exclaimed, leaping to her feet and putting her coffee down. “Count me in!”

* * *

Detectives Schott and Olsen were waiting for them when they arrived, along with ME Lane, a uniformed officer who Sam hadn’t been introduced to yet, and two distressed looking men. She followed Danvers from the car down the alley towards the little group, feeling the tension that had been building all morning slip away. This was so much better than anxiously checking her phone for new reviews, or wandering in and out of bookstores checking up on things. Maybe not better than the scotch and blanket plan, but she’d take it.

“Alright, take it away Carlson,” Olsen said to the officer as Danvers came to a halt. The officer’s attention seemed to be more on Sam than the detective though.

“This the writer?” he asked, sounding genuinely curious rather than scornful, as so many of his colleagues had been.

“Oh good, you’ve heard,” Danvers muttered.

“Sure, everyone has!” Carlson exclaimed. He looked Sam in the eye. “Are you really basing your next character on Detective Danvers?”

“Every artist needs a muse, officer,” Sam replied with a smile. Danvers spun on her heel, grabbed Sam by the wrist, and walked her back a pace or two.

“Let’s make a deal, Arias,” the detective murmured, quiet and deadly. “You don’t call me your muse, and I don’t break your legs. Kay?”

“Oki-dokie,” Sam said, flashing the other woman a thumbs-up. Danvers growled, but let go of her wrist and walked back to the group – Carlson appeared to have made a sharp exit, perhaps realizing he’d helped to piss off the grouchy detective. Olsen picked up where the officer had presumably left off, shaking his head and gesturing to the distressed civilians.

“Detective Danvers, Jack Lifford and Hall Mars. They were moving into the building opposite, today, and saw a rolled-up rug in a dumpster on the way here, a couple of blocks away. They went to grab it, figuring it’s their lucky day, but…”

Now that Sam was close enough, she could see what Olsen was getting at. There was a nice-looking rug spread out across the alley, previously obscured by the people standing around it, but from here she could see the dark-haired man lying in it. He looked familiar, she realised.

“Dead guy in a rug,” Schott said, “so we knew we had to give you a call.”

“Oh yeah,” Olsen echoed.

“It’s clear-cut, medically speaking,” ME Lane said, looking more serious than she often did. Sam put it down to her being in the presence of civilians rather than tucked away in her morgue. “Shot at close range with a .38. Would have killed him instantly.”

“OK,” Danvers said, walking a little closer to the rug and putting her hands on her hips. Arias grinned, picturing future cover-art. “Do we have an ID yet?”

Olsen shook his head. “Not yet. His pockets are empty, no wallet, no keys, no jewellry…”

“We’re figuring a robbery gone wrong,” Schott added, but Danvers shook her head at the same time as Sam herself.

“This wasn’t a robbery,” they both said; Danvers looked over her shoulder at Sam, and the writer grinned at her.

“If I were robbing someone, I wouldn’t stick around to wrap them up like that,” Sam explained, and Danvers nodded, perhaps a little grudgingly. Looking back at the body, she crouched down for a closer look.

“With this blood spatter, I’d say he was probably standing near the rug when he was shot. Couple of blocks away, you said?” When Schott nodded, Danvers continued, standing up and dusting her hands off. “Right, get CSU on the rug – fibres, blood, the works. Get another team down to that dumpster, see what else they can dig out. Lucy, can you work on getting us an ID?”

“On it,” the ME replied, but Sam shook her head.

“Don’t worry, I know who he is.”

* * *

Alex could have kicked herself following Arias explanation. Jeff Horn, one of National City’s better regarded city councillors, currently running for re-election. Well, formerly, she supposed. Alex didn’t consider herself to be particularly politically active, but his adverts had been everywhere recently; she should have spotted it sooner, and not just because that would have deprived Arias of another victory. Nevertheless, she had agreed to take the writer with her to visit the Horn family; Captain Jones was concerned about the press getting in before they could, and arguing about Arias’ presence would take too long; nobody deserved to find out about a bereavement from some headline-seeking gutter journalist.

The Horn’s had a nice house, which they were shown through swiftly. Mrs Horn was waiting in an office – it wasn’t immediately clear whether it was her late husband’s or her own. Alex broke the news as gently as she could, although there was no good way to deliver such news. Mrs Horn – Laurie, she recalled – took it better than most; she sagged against the desk, her hand rising to her mouth as if to physically repress a scream. Alex gave her a moment in silence to recover, standing with her hands clasped respectfully. She was pleased to note Arias following her lead, although whether that was innate decency or just the good sense to copy her, she didn’t know. Once she judged the moment right, she spoke gently to the widow.

“I’m sorry, Mrs Horn, I know this is difficult, but I have to ask – when was the last time you heard from your husband?”

“I, ah…” she was staring off into thin air, likely not really seeing anything. “I called him last night. About eleven. He’d been at a fundraiser, but he was on his way back to the office.”

“That late? Was that usual?” Alex asked.

She nodded. “Well, during elections at least.” A sad smile cracked across her face. “He believed that it was a politician’s obligation to get the people’s work done, even while running for office. If that meant some late nights, well…it was part of the job.”

“But when he didn’t come home?” Alex pressed.

“That wasn’t unusual either,” Mrs Horn said. “He had a couch in the office…Frank called this morning though, wondering where he was. I…” she trailed off.

“Frank?”

“Hm? Oh, Frank Nesbit. Jeff’s campaign manager.”

“How did your husband sound last night?” Arias asked. Alex allowed it, although she reserved the right to chew her out later depending on the follow up.

“What do you mean?” Mrs Horn asked.

“Well, did he sound like there was something wrong?” Arias elaborated.

Mrs Horn shook her head decisively. “No, not at all. He seemed happy. It doesn’t – it doesn’t make any sense! He’s a good man, and a good father, and every day he would go out there to make this city a better place, _every day_! For him to die like this…” she trailed off again, her damp eyes widening. “What am I supposed to tell my girls?”

* * *

The drive back to the precinct started in silence. Danvers was gripping the wheel tightly, not distracted, but clearly driving more on auto-pilot than with a clear focus on the road. Not that Sam felt remotely unsafe in the detective’s capable hands. She was clearly in some distress though, and while Sam wouldn’t claim to know Danvers well enough yet to properly offer support, she didn’t like to leave things unacknowledged. “You OK?” she asked quietly.

“Sure. Why?” Danvers answered, not sounding convincing.

“It can’t be easy, breaking that kind of news.”

Danvers took a deep breath. “No. It isn’t.” She flicked a quick look at Sam, and the hint of a smile. “Thanks for not making it a joke.”

“Hey, I’m a wise-ass, not a jack-ass,” Sam said, looking back ahead.

“Ah, I didn’t realise there was a difference,” Danvers said, sounding more her normal self.

“So what’s the next move?” Sam asked, trying to keep that going. “Last person to see him alive? Timeline? Donuts? Bad coffee?”

Danvers shook her head, then frowned a little. “This new character of yours…just how closely are you going to base her on me?”

“Well…” Sam paused, pretending to think. “She’s not going to be particularly bright. Kinda slutty.”

“Right, was that wise-ass or jack-ass?”

“Actually that was jack-ass,” Sam said with a grin, which only got wider at Danver’s annoyed huff. “Look, don’t worry – you’re not going to have anything to be embarrassed about. She’s gonna be great. Really smart, savvy, _haunting_ good looks, a really great detective.” She paused to let that sink in. “And kinda slutty.”

“Arias.”

Sam’s phone went, and she immediately answered, offering an obviously false apology. “Sam Arias.”

“Oh _honey_ , are you OK?”

“I…” Sam paused, double checking her phone display. “Lena? What’s wrong, are you OK? Why wouldn’t I be OK?”

“Darling, nobody is buying your book! I’m in the store now, and – ”

Sam closed her eyes with a sigh. “Lena, what are you doing in a bookstore?”

“I needed a coffee, and this was the closest I could find, and the shelves are full!”

“Lena, you’re catastrophizing – they’ve only been on sale two hours, did you think there was going to be a line out of the door?”

“They were for that Harry Potter one.”

Sam scoffed. “Oliver Queen is not Harry Potter.”

“Clearly!”

Sam closed her eyes with a sigh, and tried to push her own concerns down. “Lena, I know you’re just worried, but…the book’ll be fine, it’s just early. OK? And don’t worry about me.” She hung up before Lena could say anything more, and slid down a little in her seat, staring out of the passenger window.

“You OK?” Danvers asked, somehow more tentatively than she managed with the recently bereaved.

“Of course I am,” Sam replied. Even to her own ears, it sounded forced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading - hopefulyl you enjoyed. If you did, comments, kudos, and all other forms of AO3 approved support are more than welcome, as is polite critique. Keep an eye out for the next update, and if you like the writing, why not check out my other WIP, The Alien Angel of National City?


	5. Hell Hath No Fury: part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realise they've fallen a little out of fashion these days, but it occured to me that given the amount of material I'm borrowing from Castle, I might want to think about a disclaimer - I hope it's obvious, but if you recognise it, I absolutely do not own it.

**Hell Hath No Fury part 2**

The sun beat down on the alley, which didn’t help with the smell. Detective James Olsen hovered awkwardly, torn between fastidiousness and duty as he watched his fellow detective rummage in the dumpster. He really didn’t want to get inside, but…he sighed, stripped off his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves, before climbing in next to Schott, who grinned but said nothing. James groaned as he stepped on something soft and damp.

“This is the worst thing I’ve ever done,” he muttered, drawing a laugh from Schott.

“You’re a homicide detective, and _this_ is the worst thing you’ve ever done?”

“We get training to deal with the homicides,” James pointed out. “This is a whole other thing.”

Schott shrugged. “I guess I got used to it back in vice., maybe. Although that doesn’t explain the hundreds if not thousands of people who live off roadkill.”

“Roadkill?” James asked in tones of disgust.

“Sure – you know, when you’re done with something, you leave it out on the street for those in need; artists, students, former hedge fund managers…” Schott grinned. “Trickle down economics at its finest, man.”

“Uh-huh. I can live without being trickled on, thank you very much.”

“Yeah? You, ah, you know that red couch at mine? The one you like so much?”

James closed his eyes, took a deep breath and immediately regretted it. “Don’t say it.”

“54th and Schmidt, one bright and shiny summer morning.”

“Oh my god, we’re never playing Madden at your place ever again.”

Schott chuckled and turned back to his digging. James followed suit, muttering while he worked. How much stuff did the dumpster have in it? After a while, Schott straightened up with a triumphant exclamation, holding a wallet aloft. “Gotcha! Jeffrey Horn.” He looked over at James. “Guess you didn’t need to get in here after all.”

James vaulted out of the dumpster, stone-faced, in the wake of his partner’s laughter.

* * *

Alex’s phone rang as she pulled up outside the late Jeffrey Horn’s campaign HQ, which still looked pretty busy. “Danvers.”

“We got the wallet,” Olsen said briskly. “Tragically deep in a dumpster, but we got it – I can forward the dry-cleaning bill to the precinct, right?”

“Nope. Anything in it?”

“License yes, money and credit cards no.”

“Hm. Anything from the locals?”

“Nah, just the usual crap. We’ll get forensics down to have a look, but I wouldn’t hold your breath.”

“OK. Run logs on the phone, find out who he was talking to. See you back at the station.” She hung up and relayed the information to Arias, who looked thoughtful.

“Wouldn’t a robber have left the wallet where they killed the guy, rather than where they moved him?”

“You’d think, wouldn’t you?” Alex agreed. “It’s sloppy.”

“You think it’s a cover-up?”

“I’m leaning that way, yeah. I know you are,” she said with a roll of her eyes.

“Of course, it’s a much more interesting story!” Arias said, following Alex towards the building. “And has the advantage of being the story that best fits the evidence, this time.”

“Well, first time for everything,” Alex said with a grin as she pushed the door open. She walked in, ignoring Arias’ (admittedly fairly accurate) protestations of how useful her ideas had been recently. She flashed her badge at the nearest person, a harried looking young man, probably an intern by the looks of things. “Excuse me, Detective Alex Danvers, NCPD; I’m looking for Frank Nesbit.” He pointed across the room at a smarter, older, although equally stressed looking man; she nodded her thanks and headed over, Arias trailing in her wake. Nesbit was talking quietly with another intern, but he caught Alex’s eye as she approached, and then clearly noticed the badge still in her hand. He patted the intern on the shoulder as she drew close.

“Can you give me a minute, Ryan?” The younger man nodded and hurried off; Nesbit watched him go a little sadly before focusing his attention on Alex. “Sorry about that…detective?” Alex nodded, and Nesbit continued. “We’re all so…we’ve called in grief counsellors for them. Jeff meant a lot, to all of us.

“Sounds like he was more than just a candidate,” Arias said. “Or a boss.”

“We were friends,” Nesbit said simply. “We wanted to change the world.”

“Were you with him last night?” Alex asked him gently. He nodded.

“At the fundraiser, yeah. Till about eleven, I guess. I offered to share a taxi, but he said he wanted to walk, get some air.”

“Where was this fundraiser?”

“Marconi’s.”

“Near LuthorCorp?” Arias asked. “That’s only a dozen blocks or so.”

“But we found him all the way downtown…” Alex said thoughtfully. “Did Mr Horn have any enemies?”

“He was a politician, of course he did,” Nesbit said.

“What about Jason Bollinger?” Arias said, which made Alex wonder whether the writer was naturally politically aware enough to pay attention to the elections, or whether she’d just researched the matter in the last few hours. Nesbit shook his head though.

“I can’t see that. He’s ahead in the polls anyway, I can’t see what he’d stand to gain from it.”

“Had Mr Horn received any threats recently? Or the campaign as a whole?” Alex asked.

“Nothing out of the ordinary, no,” Nesbit said, but then he paused, looking reflective. “Well…I guess there was the hate mail. Calvin Creason.”

“As in, Axium and the Majestic? Club Tasty?” Arias asked, sounding surprised. “What’s a nightclub owner doing sending Horn hate mail? Did he crack down on drug dealers or something?”

“Worse – Creason bought an old warehouse near the docks, wanted to turn it into a new club. 300 rooms, cocktails, nightclub, the works. The neighbours didn’t like the idea though, so Jeff got it killed off in committee.”

Arias whistled. “Leaving Creason with millions of dollars worth of useless real estate.”

“Hey, the guy had a beef with Jeff, sure, but that’s not…it doesn’t mean he killed him.” Nesbit said; Alex couldn’t decide whether he was trying to convince himself or them. Regardless, she shook her head.

“Maybe, but it doesn’t mean he didn’t. I think we’d better have a word with him.”

* * *

Creason was an oily-looking man in a loud shirt and expensive suit, and he looked very pleased with himself. Just looking at him made Sam regret the nights she had spent in several of his establishments over the years; however much fun she may have had, lining his pockets probably wasn’t worth it. He smirked as Danvers laid out the situation, looking the detective up and down in a way which made Sam want to reach across the table and smack him.

“Look, detective, I’m not gonna lie, when I heard the news I ordered myself a nice cold bottle of Crys and made a toast to the universe.”

“Well, it’s good of you to admit that, Mr Creason,” Danvers said, folding her arms. He scoffed.

“Come on, why should I care? Horn was an asshole, acting like another hotel going up would be the end of civilization – you got any idea what one of my properties does for the local economy? This city should be _paying_ me, not stopping me.”

“Fair to say you’ve got motive then,” Sam said, unable to stop herself any longer. Creason shot her a dirty, dismissive look.

“Who the hell are you? Don’t look much like a cop.”

“We should arrest him,” Sam said, ignoring Creason in favor of looking over at Danvers; the detective shook her head, but Sam was sure she spotted a quick flicker of amusement.

“Please, you got nothing. If I was gonna kill everyone who got in my way, there’d be bodies stacked higher than the Chrysler building. Besides,” and he leaned back in his chair, spreading himself out with an obnoxious smirk,” I don’t need to kill anyone to bury them.”

“Uh-huh,” Danvers said, clearly unimpressed. “For the record, where were you last night?”

“At my club.”

“Can anyone confirm that?”

He laughed. “Detective, when I go out, _everyone_ sees me.”

“Thank you for your time, Mr Creason,” Danvers said, before turning on her heel and prowling out of his office. Sam followed quickly, ostentatiously shuddering.

“God, I need a shower. So what next?”

“Checking his alibi,” Danvers said, pulling out her phone and starting to type while she walked.

“Well…there is one thing, while we’re here,” Sam said, starting to head in the opposite direction. Danvers didn’t notice for a second, then looked up in confusion before hurrying to catch up.

“What? Arias, what are you doing?”

“Promise not to hate me,” she said, leading Danvers through the hotel corridors, ducking around cleaning staff; it was the post-checkout rush, and she just needed to find a room with an open door…

“I already hate you,” Danvers snapped back.

“That’s fair,” Sam said with a grin. “OK, so I took a couple of photos earlier.”

“You took photos of my crime scene?” Danvers exclaimed, sounding outraged. Sam nodded absently, still looking out for somewhere suitable.

“Don’t get mad, I emailed them to a friend of mine – well, I say a friend, he’s my interior decorator, but then we slept together, so I don’t really know what he is now…”

“What the hell were you thinking?”

“I know, I know, you work together, you think it’ll be fun, but it always makes things weird.” She spotted a room open at the end of the corridor, and hurried towards it, looking over her shoulder. Danvers looked furious. “It’s a real cautionary tale.”

“Arias, I do not care who you’ve slept with or the fallout there-of. You cannot take photos of bodies!”

“What? Why would I do that, I sent him a picture of the rug!” Sam explained. “Figured he might be able to give me an idea where it came from, and…voila…”

She came to a halt outside the open room, and nodded her head inside. Danvers followed her gaze, and the detective’s jaw dropped. One of the staff was still inside, cleaning up, but the rug was clearly visible; an exact match of the one they had found Jeffrey Horn wrapped up in, minus blood stains. Danvers looked back at Sam, and the writer grinned.

“Don’t gloat, Arias. It’s really unattractive.”

“But we can arrest him now, right?”

* * *

Creason was escorted into an interrogation room by a uniform, clearly furious at what was happening to him. Arias perched herself on Alex’s desk, an almost unbearably smug expression on her face, which Alex did her best to ignore, going through the newest information. “He didn’t arrive at the club until after midnight, so we’ve definitely got potential there.”

“So what, just take five until his lawyer shows up?”

“We follow other leads,” Alex said. “It’s a little thing we in the force call ‘working’.”

“Working…yes, I’ve heard of that,” Arias said, nodding. “Makes sense, I guess, since he didn’t do it.”

Alex paused, then reluctantly looked up at Arias. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, all the evidence points to him,” Arias said, as if it was obvious.

“All the evidence points to him…so he didn’t do it.”

“Sure. He’s a red herring.”

“A red herring?” Alex said incredulously.

“Yeah, you know – an innocent character who appears guilty, in this case,” Arias explained.

“I know what a red herring is, Arias – it’s a literary device. Used in literature. Or genre fiction, as it may be,” she added with a pointed look, and allowed herself a mental grin at Arias’ wounded expression. “In reality though, we don’t dismiss suspects because they look too guilty, or we caught them too early. Anyway, you were the one pushing to arrest him!”

“Yeah, because he’s a slimeball. Come on, the guy’s a multi-millionaire, he’s not going to be dumb enough to wrap a corpse in his own rug.”

Alex raised an eyebrow; Arias paused, apparently reconsidering her words, then nodded acknowledgement. “OK, this particular multi-millionaire, slimeball though he maybe, isn’t that dumb.”

“That’s as may be, but the rugs were custom designed for his hotels, so we’ve got to investigate him. Hey, Olsen.”

Her fellow detective had returned, wearing fresh clothes after his dumpster dive earlier in the day. He flashed her an easy smile and strolled over, greeting Arias cheerfully; Alex scowled, but schooled her expression before either of them looked at her again. “So, Creason, huh? We like him for it?”

“Maybe. Find out everything you can about their rug order – how many they had, if any have gone missing, who had access…the works.”

“You got it, boss,” Olsen said, turning and grabbing his jacket before heading out. Alex turned back to her paperwork, but was distracted by Arias chuckling.

“What?”

“You’re very good at bossing people around,” the writer said. She waggled her eyebrows suggestively. “Very good, in fact.”

Alex turned away, setting her mind to a different task: repressing a blush by sheer force of will.

* * *

Sam sat herself down on the table in the observation room, folding her arms a little sullenly. She had become accustomed to joining Danvers in the actual interrogation, but the detective had told her – a little too happily, in Sam’s personal opinion – that it might be better for her to sit this one out, given her obvious disdain for Creason. _“No need to work the lawyer up more than she already will be, Arias.”_ Sam could concede the logic; that didn’t mean she had to like it. As Danvers got going though, she found herself wishing for some popcorn.

“So it’s a complete coincidence that a man whose murder you celebrated by drinking champagne was found wrapped up in a rug from your hotel? That’s your story, Mr Creason?”

“There are identical rugs in every room of the Axiom, Detective Danvers,” the lawyer said smoothly. “You can’t expect my client to be responsible for their whereabouts.”

“Oh, I absolutely can – unless a jury tells me otherwise,” Danvers shot back.

“Come on, this is a waste of time, detective,” Creason drawled. “I told you exactly what I was doing last night.”

“You did indeed, Mr Creason, and we confirmed that you made quite an entrance,” Danvers said, theatrically checking her notes. “A supermodel on each arm, apparently.”

“That’s not a crime, last I checked.”

“That’s true,” Danvers replied, sounding as if she wished it was. Sam didn’t – she’d have been arrested a lot more if it were. “But it is memorable – witnesses were very clear that you didn’t get there until nearly 1am. I’m afraid Mr Horn was murdered somewhere between eleven and twelve.”

Sam sat up straight, grinning with anticipation. “Here it comes…”

“So where were you between eleven and twelve, Mr Creason?”

Sam mimed dropping a mic, with some satisfaction. On the other side of the glass, Creason scowled, but his lawyer spoke before he could. “It is a matter of record that my client sleeps from six pm til midnight in order to maintain a late night presence at his club.”

“Can anyone confirm that for last night?” Danvers said, looking at Creason. He suddenly leaned forward in his chair; his lawyer started to speak, but he cut her off, prompting her to sit back with an annoyed expression. Sam had a feeling he didn’t listen to her as often as he should.

“Shut up. No, I – “

“So, motive, opportunity…” Danvers said, talking over him; he raised his voice.

“Hold on a sec. Hold on.” The slimy, confident shell was starting to crack, and Sam was loving it, even if she still clung to the belief that he wasn’t responsible. “I didn’t kill him. I had no reason to.”

“He was in your way, wasn’t he?”

“Not for long, he wasn’t going to get re-elected. All I had to do was wait.”

“You couldn’t possibly be sure about that,” Danvers said, her scepticism obvious.

“I could, as it happens.” Creason grinned, some of his smarm returning. “What do you know about Jason Bollinger?”

* * *

Bollinger’s office was busier than Horn’s had been. Alex couldn’t decide whether that made sense or not; on the one hand Bollinger and his team were likely carrying on more or less as normal, but on the other hand, Horn’s office had a legitimate crisis to deal with. She wasn’t sure what to make of it yet, but she carefully filed it away in her mental notes for future reference. With the advantage of Bollinger’s face being publicly known, they didn’t need to ask around to find him; he was standing loud and proud in the center of the room, hands on hips and an expression of major stress on his face.

“Is the statement ready yet?” he snapped at a passing intern, who shook her head.

“Mike’s still working on it, but – “

“Well tell _Mike_ that the _Ledger_ website updates in twenty minutes, and I want my quote of outrage and sympathy in a damn article!” The intern nodded frantically and scurried off, leaving Bollinger pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. He looked up as Alex approached, Arias close behind, and introduced herself. He shook her hand warmly enough, and gestured around the office. “Sorry about all this, we’ve been all hands on deck since the news broke. I’ll get crucified if it isn’t handled properly, you know?”

Alex hummed noncommittally. “Mr Bollinger – “

“Jason, please,” he interrupted with a pained smile. “Mr Bollinger is my father.”

“Jason, then – how well do you know Calvin Creason?”

Bollinger’s brow furrowed with confusion. “Better than most, I guess, but we’re not exactly close friends – he’s thrown me a few fundraisers, we’ve had a couple of meetings. Why?”

“Because he seems to think that you have some information on the late councilman Horn,” Alex said, looking him in the eye. “The kind of information that could guarantee you the election.”

Bollinger sighed. “Can we step into my office?” He didn’t wait for her to respond, setting off to a rather cramped back room; the detective and the writer followed behind. Once they were inside, he shut the door and started fumbling at a locked drawer in his desk. “We had something, yes – have it, I suppose. Opposition research, you know?”

“Opposition research?” Alex echoed.

“Sure, everyone does it,” he said, finally getting the drawer open. “All conducted by a licensed PI, and completely vetted by our lawyers, all legal and above board. Just some basic research to see if the councilman had any vulnerabilities.”

“And you found some?” Arias asked, sounding intrigued.

“Oh yeah,” Bollinger replied, sounding excited despite himself. He pushed a folder over the desk towards Alex, the kind of file she might have back at the precinct. “I wasn’t planning on using it though.” He looked between the two women, and held his hands up defensively at whatever he saw in their expression; Alex looked sidelong at Arias and was rather annoyed to see the disbelief she felt herself written all over the writer’s face as well. “I mean it – politics is politics, sure, but I’m not a bad guy. I was ahead in the polls anyway, so why bother?”

Not convinced, Alex flicked the folder open. Her eyebrows raised at the photos inside, and Arias stepped closer, peeking over her shoulder. “That’s Councilman Horn…” Alex murmured.

“And that is _not_ his wife!” Arias finished, sounding delighted.

* * *

The drive across town to the PI’s office was not a long one, so Sam made the most of the photos while she could, knowing that Danvers probably wouldn’t let her get hold of them again; she already looked irritated enough, which of course just made Sam want to play things up even more. She looked at one particular photo and whistled in admiration. “I’ve gotta hand it to Councilman Horny, he is _incredibly_ flexible for a guy his age.” She waved the photo in Danvers’ direction. “You ever do anything like that?”

“Would you put those away?” the detective ground out, eyes not wavering from the road.

“I’m just saying, he had to be doing yoga,” Sam continued, tilting the photos around for different angles as ostentatiously as she could. “Or pilates, maybe.”

“Why’s it always the family values guys that get caught with their pants down, anyway?” Danvers asked, seemingly more relaxed now the photos weren’t being waved at her.

“Because the universe loves irony, detective,” Sam said. “Also, most people are hypocrites.”

“Present company excluded or included?” Danvers asked. Before Sam could comment back, she continued on a different note: “And the girl – what was she thinking? That he’d leave his wife and kids for her?”

“That’s a little sexist, isn’t it?” Sam asked, semi-seriously. Danvers flicked a quick, questioning look at her, so she elaborated. “You assume that she had to be after something serious just because she’s a woman. Maybe she was just in it for the sex, you know?”

“With him?” Danvers said dubiously. Sam looked down at the photos again, and shrugged.

“Well, they do say power is an aphrodisiac…”

“He wasn’t that powerful,” the detective said flatly, and Sam laughed.

“So, older politicians are out – what is your type, Danvers?”

“Serious, hard-working, professional women,” she replied with a smirk. “The complete opposite of you, Arias.”

“I’m hard-working,” she protested half-heartedly, delighting in the sight of Detective Alex Danvers bantering. “I’ve written more in the last few weeks than in the last few months.”

“Not contesting the serious or professional then?”

“Well, no – I’m honest as well.”

Danvers actually chuckled. “Let’s hope this PI is too.”

* * *

PI Bruce Kirby had the look of a once physically imposing man gone to seed; not overweight, but definitely getting a little flabby around the edges. He had welcomed them in politely enough, and poured himself a glass of scotch, before waving the bottle at them. Alex shook her head. “I’m on duty, Mr Kirby. Thank you though.”

“Never stopped me,” he said with a shrug, putting the bottle down and heading behind his desk to sit down.

“You were on the job?” Alex asked.

“Twenty years, yeah.” His gaze flicked towards Arias, and he scoffed. “Course, back then we worked with other cops, not second-rate novelists.”

“Ah, second-rate?” Arias said, looking genuinely offended.

“ _Hot lead poured out of cold steel,_ ” the PI quoted, before rolling his eyes. “Not exactly Shakespeare, is it?”

“How long were you working for the Bollinger campaign, Mr Kirby?” Alex said firmly, cutting further protestations off. Arias settled into a grumpy silence, tucking her hands into the pockets of her expensive coat.

“Couple weeks, but it was fun. Mr Family Values tells his wife he’s gonna be working late, probably crash at the office, twenty minutes later he’s, ah,” and here Kirby paused, clearly savoring his words, “polling his constituency.”

“And the girl?”

“Looked like she was worth every cent to me,” Kirby said with a lascivious wink.

“She was a pro?” Alex asked, not entirely surprised.

“You don’t think a looker like that was gonna be swooning over his stump speeches, do ya?”

“Makes you wonder what else he had a taste for,” Arias said, perking up at the new lead.

“And what it led to,” Alex said. “You got an address for her?”

“Kind of,” Kirby said, reaching for a file. “You know, in my day, you wanted a whore you had to trawl the street corners. Now you just order them online. What a world.”

* * *

Detective Schott was squirming uncomfortably in his chair as he scrolled through the list of girls, much to Sam’s amusement. She leaned forward a little more, closer to him, and he jumped; she smirked, and a few paces away, she heard Detective Olsen snigger. “First time on an escort site, detective?”

“Um, no,” he stammered, still scrolling. Sam raised an eyebrow, turning her head to look at Olsen.

“Really? I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“Well, I used to work in vice, so they came up there sometimes,” he explained.

“ _Oh_ , that makes more sense,” Sam said. He looked up at her confused, then the penny dropped.

“Wait, you thought – no! I’d never.”

“Nothing wrong with it,” Sam said casually, “so long as it’s all consensual.”

“I mean, it is illegal,” Olsen said. Sam rolled her eyes.

“A lot of things have been illegal, doesn’t mean they’re morally wrong.”

“You do know you’re standing in a police station, right?” Olsen asked, sounding amused.

“I said prostitution shouldn’t be illegal, not that I’ve ever partaken,” Sam pointed out. “The closest I’ve ever come to paying for sex are my marriages.”

The conversation ceased as Danvers walked back over, some papers in her hand and a disapproving expression on her face. The two detectives straightened up, while Sam contented herself with a broad smile, which Danvers ignored. “The number is registered to a PO box out of state,” she said, looking between her colleagues pointedly, “so we’ll have to get cyber to track down the IP.”

“What if the IP is out of state too?” Sam asked.

Olsen shrugged. “We co-ordinate with the local law enforcement.”

“Assuming they’re willing to co-operate,” Schott added.

“That’s the way these sites work,” Danvers explained. “They’re designed to evade authorities. We’ll get there, just might take us a while.”

“Oh, but this is a major case, detective,” Sam said, looking back at the screen and pulling out her phone. “I’d hate for the precinct to get any flak for dragging their heels over the death of a beloved local figure.”

“What…Arias, what are you doing?” Danvers asked warily, but Sam had already hit call. The response was pretty much instant.

“Hi there, my name’s Samantha, and I’m a very generous lady looking to arrange a special date with, ah, Tiffany.” She skipped around Schott’s desk as Danvers lunged forward, arms outstretched to try and snatch the phone away from her, and scurried away through the precinct as the detective followed. “Just give me a call back on 3475550179 – thank you!”

She hung up as Danvers caught her, and grinned at the detective. “Arias, you cannot just call up a prostitute like that!”

“Why not?”

“What do you mean, why not? We’re the police!” Danvers sputtered, her face turning a lovely shade of red.

“Ah, no,” Sam said, holding up a finger. “You’re the police – I’m just a lonely rich woman looking for a date. Wanna bet who finds her first?” Over Danvers’ shoulder, she could see Schott and Olsen turn to each other, reaching for their wallets, and she bit her cheek to stop a grin that would probably be deemed obnoxious. Danvers stared at her, mouth moving silently, but before she could say anything more Sam stepped past her to grab her coat. “Well, fun as this has been everyone, I should probably go and freshen up.” She turned to wink at Danvers. “Gotta look my best, after all. See ya!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading - let me know what you thought!


	6. Hell Hath No Fury 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bumper sized chapter this time - hope you enjoy!

Hell Hath No Fury: part 3

Of the many things Sam enjoyed in her life, there weren’t many more satisfying than cooking with her daughter. It was a skill she had developed only fairly late in her life, not having learned in childhood and simply not having the time after Ruby’s birth; any spare moment she had between her newborn, work and sleep had been taken up by writing, desperately trying to produce something worth selling. In the years since then though, it had become something of a hobby for both of them, and they tried to cook together at least once a week.

Despite that, Sam had to admit that there were more interesting things on the menu tonight, as she stirred the risotto absently.

“So…wait a minute,” Ruby said, frowning in concentration. “Where does the rug come into it? If Creason didn’t have anything to do with it?”

“Apparently a whole bunch of them got dumped after too many wild parties at the hotel,” Sam explained, before chuckling. “If they were anything like some of the nights I’ve had there…anyway. Whoever killed Horn probably heard about the feud between him and Creason and figured it would be a good way of shifting suspicion…except if they hadn’t tried it, it would probably just have been written off as a mugging gone wrong.”

“So by trying to be smart, they were actually being stupid?”

“Pretty much, yeah. Story of the human condition, kid.”

“Speaking of the human condition,” Ruby said, a sly look crossing her face. “How’s it going with Detective Danvers?”

“Hmm? Do you think this needs a little more wine?”

“Yes.”

“You haven’t tasted it,” Sam said, smiling.

“But there’ll be more wine in it,” Ruby said with a grin. Sam chuckled again, and added another healthy glug. “But come on, stop trying to change the subject. You’re basing a character on her, and you always say you have to love your characters…”

“I’ve been inspired by a lot of people over the years,” Sam pointed out, “and I haven’t always liked all of them, never mind loved them.”

“But…?” Ruby prompted.

“Sorry to disappoint, but although she is definitely a character, this is just research I’m afraid.”

“Uh-huh.” Ruby didn’t sound convinced, which, to be fair, was understandable. Sam wasn’t convinced herself, although love was a bit of a stretch. She preferred to think of it as a healthy, respectful appreciation for Detective Danvers, in all aspects. Further conversation was cut off by the door crashing open, and Lena Luthor bursting in, looking distraught. She looked around, then headed straight over to Sam, arms spreading wide.

“Oh Sammy, I’m so sorry!”

“What – ” Sam grunted as Lena hugged her tight, squashing the wind out of her. “Hi, sweetie. What are you on about?”

“The review!” Lena exclaimed, stepping back and waving a piece of paper. As it whistled past, Sam could just about make out her own name, in a printed out article. “Listen – ‘her work has become so hackneyed, so cliché, that we wonder if Ms Arias has anything new to say. It appears the magic, if there ever was any, is long gone.’”

Sam closed her eyes and took a deep, centring breath. Ruby headed round the kitchen counter and grabbed the paper, before looking up at Lena curiously. “The _Syracuse Times Reader_?”

“Yes, well, they’ll soon be hearing from Luthorcorp lawyers,” Lena snapped, her eyes flashing, “and we’ll see what kind of review they want to write then! It’s a disgrace – you’ve written dozens of books, and – ”

“Lena, why don’t you take your coat off and have a glass of wine, OK? It’s one review, it’s not that big a deal,” Sam said soothingly, guiding her friend closer to the counter. “And there’s no need to get the lawyers involved.” Lena jerked her head up, looking ready to argue, and Sam raised a finger in warning. “Remember what I was saying about catastrophizing? It’s one bad review, and the book just came out.”

Lena deflated, and shot an apologetic look at Sam. “And I’m not helping, am I?”

Sam smiled, and leaned in to plant a kiss on her best friend’s forehead. “But I love that you want to. The defense is appreciated, don’t get me wrong, but save the enthusiasm for other avenues, yeah?”

“OK, OK,” Lena said, holding her hands up. “I’m sorry, I’ll stop.” She took a deep breath, then smiled widely. “This all smells delicious. I assume it’s all your work, Ruby?”

“Hey,” Sam protested, but Ruby was already nodding vigorously.

“Don’t worry, completely safe to eat.”

“I’m a good cook,” Sam complained, knowing it was pointless. Lena laughed, and stood up, shaking her hair out of her work ponytail as she did so.

“Of course you are, darling. Let me go and get changed, and I’ll help with the finishing touches, OK?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam said, waving her off. Once Lena had vanished into her bedroom, Sam slumped dramatically against the counter herself, prompting a chuckle from Ruby, closely followed by a hug.

“She just does it because she cares, you know.”

“Don’t worry, I know,” Sam said, ruffling her daughter’s hair. “Still wish she wouldn’t though.” Her phone rang, and she straightened up, easing out of Ruby’s arms. “Keep an eye on this, OK – and don’t add any more wine! Hello?”

“Is this Samantha?” She didn’t recognise the voice, which was a shame; the woman on the other end of the line had one of the sultriest voices Sam had ever heard.

“It is, but I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure?”

“Not yet, certainly,” the other woman replied with a flirtatious chuckle. “This is Tiffany, you called about a date?”

“Tiffany, of course!” Sam said with a wide smile. “I’m so glad you called – out of curiosity, what are you wearing right now?”

Ruby groaned.

* * *

Alex had perched herself on a spare – clean – table in the morgue, and sat there kicking her heels idly, scrolling through her phone. Kara was busy with an article, and while normally Alex would have just returned home, ordered some takeout and cracked open a beer or two, she found herself…dissatisfied, with that idea. Unfortunately, for the moment, Lucy was nowhere to be found. A few years ago, Alex would probably have retreated to her own desk, leaving a message for her friend to contact her when she could; her time as a homicide detective had dramatically adjusted her feelings to being in a morgue though. Not to the extent that popular fiction might have had it, but her surroundings no longer unsettled her the way they once had.

“Jesus _Christ_!”

She looked up lazily at the screech, letting the corners of her mouth turn up a little in a sly smile as Lucy clutched at her chest dramatically. “Hey, Luce.”

“Damn it, Danvers, you scared the shit out of me,” her friend muttered, glaring at her. Lucy walked further into the room, putting down the tray she had been carrying and starting to sort the equipment on it away.

“Lane, you spend most of your time surrounded by corpses,” Alex pointed out.

“They don’t sneak around surprising me,” Lucy shot back. “This isn’t the best place for surprise visits, you know.”

“So you don’t want to grab a drink?”

“Didn’t say that,” Lucy said quickly. “But why me?”

“Why…what?” Alex said, confused. “You’re my best friend, why wouldn’t it be you?”

“Why me instead of the delightful Ms Arias?” Lucy asked pointedly.

“Do I know a ‘delightful’ Ms Arias?” Alex asked with a roll of her eyes. Lucy sighed.

“Oh come _on_ , Alex – really? You’re telling me you don’t like her even a little bit?”

“She’s annoying, self-centered, egotistical, and just…”

“Fun?” Lucy interrupted. Alex scowled at her. “Well, she is. And take it from me, you need some fun, Danvers. How bad can she be, anyway?”

Alex’s phone buzzed, and she scrambled to answer it, grateful for anything that could change the topic. “Danvers.”

“Guess who just got a date with a prostitute?”

She lowered the phone with a meaningful look at Lucy, who cringed.

* * *

Giovanni’s wasn’t the most upscale restaurant in National City, but it was a league away from the sort of places Sam had been able to frequent before her first bestseller. The maitre d’ welcomed her with a warm smile that she was about 75% sure was genuine, before leading her to her reserved table, set for three. She ordered a Manhattan, and settled down to wait. It wasn’t long; punctuality was clearly one of Tiffany’s strengths, walking through the door bang on eight o’clock. She was a vision in a slinky black dress, and Sam welcomed the view as she walked through the restaurant, before standing as she arrived at the table.

“Welcome to Giovanni’s, Tiffany – it’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said with her most charming smile. She stepped around the table and pulled out the chair for Tiffany to sit down, prompting a smile from the other woman.

“How very gallant, Samantha,” she said in teasing tones, smoothing her dress out as she sat down. Her gaze flicked towards the third place setting for a moment, before flicking back to meet Sam’s eyes. Sam chuckled as she returned to her own seat.

“I do try.”

“Well, I guess I’m lucky I found you then.”

“Oh, we’re the lucky ones,” Sam said. Tiffany frowned, then froze as Danvers appeared, pulling out the third chair, sitting down and flashing her badge.

“Evening, Tiffany – I’m Detective Alex Danvers. We need to ask you some questions about Jeffrey Horn.”

Sam caught Tiffany’s eye and mouthed an apology at her; Tiffany looked away, focusing on Danvers. “I had nothing to do with that.”

“With that?” Danvers immediately asked.

“His death, I mean,” Tiffany said, already sounding flustered. “He was…he was a regular, I guess. But I don’t know anything other than what I’ve seen on the news.”

“Hm.” Danvers sounded sceptical; whether it was a ploy or not, Sam wasn’t sure. “How often did you meet with Councilman Horn?”

“Once or twice a week,” Tiffany said. “He just wanted to talk at first.”

Danvers raised an eyebrow, and looked down at her phone. “You charge that much just for talking?”

“I charge people for my time, detective – what they do with it is up to them, within reason,” Tiffany shot back icily. Then she looked back to Sam. “So I am still going to bill you for this.”

“Can I submit that to the department?” Sam asked Danvers, not surprised when the detective ignored her.

“So you’re saying you didn’t have a sexual relationship with Horn?”

“I said at first,” Tiffany corrected her. “After a while though…” she shrugged, a gesture that spoke volumes. “My job is more about connection than sex. People come to me because they’re lonely, ignored, isolated…sex is just one way of making that connection.”

“So when was the last time you and Councilman Horn ‘connected’?” Danvers asked.

“A couple of weeks ago,” Tiffany said. She looked nervous, and Sam prepared herself for Danvers pressing the matter, but it was unnecessary. “He said that he couldn’t see me anymore. That he was being blackmailed.”

Sam looked over at Danvers, but the detective didn’t look terribly surprised. “Did he say who?”

“He thought it was me at first.” Tiffany looked genuinely hurt by that thought. “He said someone had photos, thought maybe I’d roped in some friends or something.”

“Did you?”

“I’m not ashamed of what I do, detective, but that doesn’t mean I want people knowing about it,” Tiffany snapped. “If someone had photos of us, he wasn’t the only one in trouble.”

“Was he angry? Scared?” Sam asked.

“Panicked, more than anything,” Tiffany said after a moment’s thought. “He was worried about the money. I think…I think he’d been taking it out of campaign funds. He was worried about people finding out.”

Danvers leaned back in her chair, brow furrowed in thought. Judging the interview to be at an end, Sam waved a waiter over, before passing a menu to Tiffany. The other woman took it with a confused frown. “They’ve got my card on file,” Sam explained. “Order whatever you want – within reason, of course.”

“Of course,” Tiffany replied with a wry smile.

“And you’ve got my details for your time?” Sam continued. Tiffany raised an eyebrow in surprise, but nodded; Sam smiled. “Great! Enjoy your meal – I can recommend the veal.” She stood up, pulling on her coat, and Danvers followed her, still mulling over the new information. Sam did her best, but only just managed to get out of the restaurant before her excitement bubbled over. “Politics, escorts, murder and blackmail – this just keeps getting better!”

“We try not to get visible enjoyment out of murder cases, Arias,” Danvers said drily. “It’s considered unprofessional.”

“As you keep reminding me though, detective, I’m not a professional,” Sam pointed out. The detective rolled her eyes, and led the way back to her car.

“So the councilman was looking for his blackmailer…what if he found him?” Danvers said. Sam rather thought she was thinking out loud rather than actually wanting a response, but that had never stopped her before.

“He gets violent, the blackmailer retaliates?”

“And then tries to implicate Creason to cover the whole thing up,” Danvers finished, opening the drivers door.

“So all you need to do is find the blackmailer!”

* * *

First thing the next morning, Alex and Arias made their way back to Jason Bollinger’s office. Arias had complained, claiming that it was far too obvious; Alex actually agreed with the writer – Bollinger had admitted having the photos taken relatively unprompted, which seemed far too stupid or bold a choice to make if he were involved in the actual blackmail. That didn’t mean they could afford to rule him out though. Bollinger welcomed them in amiably enough, and seemed sincerely hopeful that they were making progress; his mood changed when Alex hit him with the blackmail bombshell.

“No. No way, I kept those photos securely locked away,” he said, shaking his head.

“In your desk?” Alex asked. “It’s hardly Fort Knox.”

Bollinger sagged into his chair, running a hand through his hair. “Do you know how many people are in and out of this office every single day?”

“I don’t. But I would like a list.”

He snapped his eyes up to meet hers. “No way. You’re going to open up an investigation into my campaign two weeks before the election? Never going to happen.”

“You’re running unopposed, what does it matter?” Arias asked, looking unimpressed.

Bollinger laughed bitterly. “Not anymore. Laurie Horn announced that she’s running for her husband’s seat. I had an eight point lead yesterday, but with the sympathy bump I’ll be lucky if I’m tying with her by tonight. The irony is, if I released those photos now, they’d just love her even more.”

“Well, that’s as maybe, Mr Bollinger,” Alex said steadily, “but I am going to need that list, regardless.”

He stared at her for a moment, then sighed, closing his eyes in capitulation. “Sure. What the hell. Just give me a minute. He left the office, closing the door behind him. Arias sidled closer to Alex.

“Are you really going to have to question every one on that list?”

“Nope,” Alex said, shaking her head. “They’re just for reference. Horn was worried about paying without the campaign finding out, remember? That’s our best lead right now; I just wanted to see Bollinger’s reaction when he found out about the blackmail.”

“Ah,” Arias said with a nod of understanding. “You believe him then?”

“I mean, he’s a politician…”

Arias chuckled, then fell mercifully silent. It didn’t take Bollinger long to return with the list, which he handed over with at least an approximation of good grace before they took their leave. As Alex drove them over to the Horn campaign office, Arias remained quiet, scrolling through something on her phone. Alex found herself watching the writer out of the corner of her eye, actually a little concerned about the other woman, but a tentative enquiry only prompted an assurance that everything was fine, and a beaming smile that rang false to Alex’s trained eyes. She said nothing more though; if Arias didn’t want to share, that was fine by her.

Horn’s office was a flurry of activity once more, seemingly revitalized by the new leadership. It took a few moments for Nesbit to be available for them, but he led them into his own room eventually, closing the door behind them and looking at Alex expectantly. When she explained about the blackmail, his face fell.

“I…I had no idea.”

“We have reason to believe that he may have been using campaign funds to make the payoffs,” Alex said gently.

“I’ve known Jeff for years,” Nesbit said, his gaze still lowered. “He’s a good man – a family man.” He looked up. “Detective, if this gets out…”

“Mr Nesbit,” Alex said firmly, focusing on the matter at hand, “if he was using campaign funds, then we should be able to trace the payments back to the blackmailer, but we’re going to need access to your ledgers.”

“Of course, I’ll get you the copies, but…” Nesbit shook his head again. “What he did was wrong, of course it was, and I’m certainly not excusing it, but if you release those photos you’ll be doing irreparable harm to all the good he did in this city. Not to mention the distress it’ll cause Laurie. And the kids.”

Alex shook her head. “We won’t be releasing the photos, Mr Nesbit. They’re evidence in a murder investigation.” He heaved a sigh of relief in the brief moment before she continued. “But…you should be aware that one way or another, these sorts of things tend to get out. If nothing else, they might be pertinent evidence at the trial.”

Nesbit nodded slowly, before walking away to get the ledgers. He looked troubled.

* * *

Later that afternoon, Sam strolled into the precinct with a pair of coffees in hand, and put one down on Danvers desk. The detective cast a quick look at it, before going back to her paperwork. “Thanks, Arias, but I’ve got one already.”

“From the break room?” Sam asked, sitting down and crossing her legs. When Danvers nodded, she shuddered dramatically. “Rather you than me. The good stuff’s there when you’re ready for it.”

“Can’t wait,” Danvers muttered. She continued working in silence for a few moments before Olsen came over, swivelling a chair round and sitting down, leaning on the back of it.

“So, we cross-referenced Horn’s campaign payouts to all the volunteers and employees at Bollinger’s office. You were right – there’s a bunch of off the book payments, about thirty grand. No payee, just an account number.”

“Did you manage to track them down?” Danvers said, sitting up straight, her eyes gleaming.

Olsen smiled. “Bruce Kirby, our PI friend. He said he was on the force before going private, right? Well, I did some digging; turns out he lost his badge for excessive force, and he’s on probation for criminal intimidation.”

“Wow, what a hero,” Sam said drily, sipping at her coffee.

“And he has a registration for a .38,” Olsen finished. “Same calibre as the bullet we dug out of Horn.”

“Alright, bring him in,” Danvers said, leaning back in her chair with a satisfied expression. Let’s see how he copes on the other side of the table.”

“Schott’s already on it,” Olsen said. His gaze wandered towards the coffee Sam had brought for Arias. “This going spare?”

“Help yourself,” Sam said cheerfully. “I think it’s too rich for Detective Danvers.”

Olsen took it with a grin, took a long sip, and smacked his lips theatrically. “Oh man, that’s good stuff.”

“I tried telling her,” Sam said with a shrug.

“You’re missing out, Danvers.”

The other woman stood up, rolling her eyes, and headed off to the break room to refresh her cup. Olsen stretched out the cup to tap against Sam’s own, and they grinned at each other.

The antics over the coffee probably explained why Sam found herself relegated to the observation room when Kirby was brought into the interrogation room; Danvers went in with Schott, leaving Olsen to join Sam. Unusually, Captain Jones made his way in, a fierce look in his eyes. Olsen looked surprised by the captain’s presence, although he didn’t comment. It became clearer when he stood arms folded in front of the two way mirror, glaring at the PI. “Guys like him are a disgrace to the badge,” he murmured. “He shouldn’t have been able to get a licence after getting kicked off the force like that.”

“Corruption and shitty practices are everywhere you go, Captain,” Olsen said with a frown of his own. “National City might be better than most, but we aren’t perfect.”

“That’s for damn sure,” he said. “Can we find out who issued the licence? I want to have a word with them…”

“I’ll look into it,” Olsen promised. Sam was quietly impressed. She wouldn’t have spent this long with the detectives if she’d thought they so much as tolerated malpractice, but it was good to see their stance on such matters with her own two eyes. Through the mirror, she could see Danvers fanning out the documented evidence for Kirby to see before sitting back in her chair. Sam figured it was about even between the PI admitting defeat, trying to brazen it out or lying to Danvers face; she wasn’t sure what would be his worst choice. In the end, he looked up at Danvers with a cocky shrug.

“Eh, what the hell. I spent entire nights following Horn around looking for dirt, then when I got it that gutless punk Bollinger didn’t do anything with them? Figured I might as well – where’s the harm?”

“I realise you weren’t exactly the best cop this city’s ever had,” Schott snapped, “but you do know blackmail is illegal, right?”

“That chick’s half his age, he had it coming,” Kirby said dismissively.

“Except he worked out who you were and came after you,” Danvers said. “What happened – he lose his cool? Get violent?”

“Wait, what? No, that’s not – ”

“And you put a round in his head, panicked, and tried to pin it on Creason, right?”

“No!” Kirby protested, jerking his hands up, still cuffed. “I didn’t kill him, I swear! He was coming to meet me, yes, but that’s…he made a proposition. Asked what it would take to make it all go away forever.”

“And?” Danvers prompted after a moment’s pause.

“I thought what the hell, y’know?” Kirby looked between the two detectives, his cocky façade swiftly crumbling. “I told him two fifty, and he’d never hear from me again. I never thought he’d go for it, but he said yes. He was coming to meet me the night he got killed, but he never showed.”

Danvers raised a sceptical eyebrow, but stood and made her way out of the room, Schott following close behind. In seconds they were in the observation room. “What do we think?” she asked the little gathering. Captain Jones frowned.

“’I didn’t murder him, I was somewhere else waiting for him to show up with a blackmail payment’? My little girls could come up with a better story than that.”

“Something that bad’s gotta be true,” Sam said.

“Well, we’re tossing his place for the weapon as we speak,” Olsen said. “We should at least hold him until we can rule that out.”

“Oh, we’re booking him on the blackmail at the very least,” the captain said. “In the meantime, follow the money. If this moron’s telling the truth, then…”

“Then Horn had a quarter of a million dollars on him when he died,” Danvers finished.

“So what happened to it?” Schott wondered.

“And where does an underpaid public servant get it from in the first place?” the captain added.

“He was a politician,” Sam said. “He’d have gone to people who gave him money before.”

“Hey!” They all turned to look through the mirror at Kirby, who was still sat at the table in the interrogation room, looking annoyed. “Can I go now?”

* * *

Laurie Horn cut an impressive figure on the evening news, all in black as she took the stage at her first public meeting. Just enough emotion to move the audience, but not enough to hinder her speech. Sam wondered whether she should be taking notes for future readings. _“Thank you, thank you so much. We all know that it should be my husband speaking with you today. It should be his calming voice, not mine, that you hear…”_

Frank Nesbit was visible in the background, looking on proudly. Sam couldn’t bring herself to be as impressed with him; he had point blank refused to give Danvers and her colleagues anything on the campaign supporters that wasn’t already public record. It wouldn’t stop them getting to the bottom of the case, but it would make things a hell of a lot harder and more tedious. She wondered whether Laurie Horn knew about the decision, and what she felt – surely she wanted her husband’s murderer found?

“Hey.” Ruby poked her head round the door, looking a little sleepy. Sam smiled at her.

“Hey. Finished your homework?”

“Of course,” Ruby said, coming closer and perching on the arm of the chair. Sam wrapped her arm around her.

“Don’t suppose you want to finish mine, do you?”

“What are you offering in return?”

“Ah, I’ve taught you well,” Sam said with a chuckle.

“Julia called earlier, she wanted me to remind you about the reading and signing at Benoist Books tomorrow.”

Sam groaned. “Well isn’t that nice of her.”

“She said that if you don’t show she’ll…” Ruby trailed off to check something on her phone. “Oh yeah, she’ll ‘drip honey on your eyeballs and let loose a hundred fire ants’.”

“Hmm. Which do you think is worse, a hundred fire ants on your eyeballs, or ‘prose so bad it sent me screaming out into the snow’?”

“What did you tell Lena about reading bad reviews?” Ruby said, prodding her. Sam sighed, and nodded, but it didn’t lift her mood. “You know, if you really want to feel sorry for yourself, you should read the review in the _Tribune_.”

“Dare I ask?”

Ruby tapped at her phone again, apparently shifting to a different tab. “’Samantha Arias’ stirring finale reminds us what good pulp fiction is all about. It makes us desire a world of startling imperfections so we can rise above and become the heroes we always imagined ourselves to be.’”

“Cat Grant’s slipping, letting her newspaper publish nonsense like that,” Sam said, but she couldn’t hide the smile.

“Oh shut up,” Ruby said, poking her again. “I’m proud of you.”

“I’m going to remind you that you said that next time I’m embarrassing you in front of your friends,” Sam told her. Ruby rolled her eyes and leaned in closer, turning her gaze to the TV, watching in silence for a moment.

“She must be feeling awful,” she said after a moment. “Have you caught the killer yet?”

“You said you didn’t want to help me with my homework, remember?” A thought struck Sam. “Hey, if you were in trouble and needed a lot of money, where would you get it?”

“I’d just ask you,” Ruby said with a grin, before leaning in to kiss Sam on the forehead. “Night, mom.”

“Night, sweetie,” Sam said, watching her go with a smile, before turning back to the TV. The report had moved on to other things, but her mind wandered back to the footage of Laurie Horn. “I’d just ask you…” She stood up, switched off the TV and hurried into her office, settling at her computer. It took longer than she would have liked, but eventually, with a little thrill of excitement, she grabbed her phone and dialled Danvers’ number.

“Danvers…” the detective sounded sleepy, and Sam looked at the clock on her wall, wincing when she realised it was nearly midnight.

“Hey, sorry, but I think I found something in the reports on Horn’s first run for office.”

“Arias, can’t this wait – “

“Horn wasn’t wealthy, but his wife was – she came from money, and tapped into the family trust fund to finance the first campaign,” Sam rushed out. Danvers fell silent, and then Sam could hear sheets rustling, presumably as the detective sat up. When she spoke again, she sounded a lot clearer.

“You think she knew about the affair?”

“I think it’d be a great story if she did. “

“Yeah…OK,” Danvers said, sounding decisive. “We’ll get her down to the station first thing. I’d say well done, but honestly this could have waited till morning…”

“Sorry, I got excited,” Sam said, although she did grin at the fact Danvers had said well done, even if it had been backhanded.

“You always rush things when you’re excited?” Danvers said.

“Rushing things isn’t always a bad thing, detective,” Sam said, settling back in her chair. “Very much depends on what you’re doing. And where.”

“Good night, Arias.” Sam could practically hear Danvers rolling her eyes, and she grinned again.

* * *

Mrs Horn put up an impressive front even sat on the other side of an interrogation room table, Alex thought. Her eyes were cold, and she seemed perfectly composed, far more than the last time they had spoken. Alex wondered how long it would last. “Thanks for coming down, Mrs Horn, we appreciate it.”

“I wasn’t aware I had a choice,” she snapped.

“Oh, my apologies. We just had a few more questions – some new information has come to light, you see.” Beside her, Arias shifted unsubtly in her seat, and Alex had to fight back a grin. She knew the other woman was enjoying the moment, and she had a sudden wild urge to play it up even more…but she repressed it. “Information about your husband’s, ah, indiscretions.”

Mrs Horn folded her arms. “The prostitute, you mean.”

“Exactly,” Alex said agreeably. “The one he was being blackmailed about, to the tune of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. We contacted your bank, Mrs Horn, and they confirmed that you marketed about three hundred thousand dollars of stock last week – the funds were withdrawn two days before the planned exchange. And yet you didn’t say a single thing about it to us.”

“Well of course I didn’t,” she spat. “It’s none of your business.”

“Mrs Horn, your husband was murdered while someone was blackmailing him – you really didn’t think we might need to know about that?”

Mrs Horn remained silent for a moment, her expression still carefully outraged, but Alex could see the cogs turning. “I was thinking of my girls, I suppose. They idolised their father, I didn’t want to take that away from them.”

“Children can be tougher than you think,” Arias said softly. “When did you find out?”

She scoffed. “The trust called to confirm the stock sale. My husband forged my signature, thinking I’d be too stupid to notice – when I confronted him, he tried to pass it off as tax purposes. Said I wouldn’t understand.” She broke off, shaking her head, disgust cracking through her carefully maintained image. “I understood all right. Everything I wanted, everything we were supposed to be, and he couldn’t keep his pants zipped.”

“So what did you do?” Alex asked.

“Choosing between humiliation and blackmail is hardly ideal, detective, but I felt that the blackmail was the lesser of two evils. I told him to make it go away.”

“You said he called you after the meeting – what exactly did he say?”

“That he had the money, that he was going to meet the guy. That was all.” She shrugged. “I wasn’t exactly in the right frame of mind to have a long conversation with him, as I’m sure you can understand. God knows what happened after that.”

“And you’re sure he had the money?” Alex pressed, carefully not looking at Arias.

“Of course, why?”

“Because we found it at your house,” Alex said, with an air of satisfaction. Mrs Horn’s eyes widened, almost imperceptibly, and she turned even paler than she normally was.

“My house?”

“We got a search warrant this morning,” Arias said, sounding like she was trying not to sound smug and, to Alex’s ears, failing. “Your housekeeper is great, by the way, really co-operative.”

“If your husband had the money when he was killed, how did it wind up back at the house, Mrs Horn?” Alex asked her. She said nothing, so Alex decided to fill in the blanks herself. “You were more than angry, weren’t you? He didn’t just betray you, he humiliated you, and everyone was going to know. So you decided to make it go away.”

She let out a soft, bitter laugh, slumping a little in her seat. “You see them all the time, don’t you? The dutiful wife, stone faced next to their husband at the inevitable press conference, and you think ‘How do they do that? Just stand there, watching as their whole worlds melts into shame.’”

“So you killed him,” Alex finished.

“No,” Mrs Horn replied, more firmly than Alex had expected. “I was at home. I’m sure my wonderfully co-operative housekeeper can corroborate that.”

“You don’t have to be there when it happens to be charged with conspiracy to commit murder, Mrs Horn, and the courts don’t exactly make much of a difference between that and doing the deed yourself,” Alex said patiently. “Tell us what happened, OK? What did you say to your husband when he called?”

Mrs Horn’s composure finally slipped. Her head fell forward to rest against her hands, elbows on the table. “I told him that the blackmailer had changed the location. That he had to go down to the underpass where no-one would see. He had it all arranged, you see, even that damn rug. He said he’d make it look like someone else did it, that no-one would ever know. All I had to do was make the call.”

“I need a name, Laurie,” Alex said.

It wasn’t a long drive down to the Horn campaign office. Frank Nesbit was in his customary position overseeing everyone, but he looked a lot less comfortable than he had the last time Alex had spoken to him. For good reason. She could see him tense up as he spotted her walking towards him, Olsen at her side. She was willing to pay Nesbit the courtesy of not making the declaration too loudly, although she supposed once Olsen brought the cuffs out it would be a moot point. He started to back away ever so slightly as she drew closer.

“Frank Nesbit, you are under arrest for the murder of Jeff Horn.”

He shook his head, looking around frantically. Although she hadn’t spoken loudly, people were definitely taking an interest. “That’s…that’s ridiculous. I didn’t – “

“Mrs Horn doesn’t think it’s ridiculous,” Alex said. “Olsen, cuff him.”

“Mr Nesbit, you have the right to – hey!”

Nesbit broke into a run, pushing interns and other staff aside in his haste to get away, heading towards a door at the rear of the office. Alex shot Olsen a resigned look, and the two detectives started strolling after him. Nesbit yanked the door open, then jumped back at the sight of Detective Schott, who was making idle conversation with Arias. The younger detective smiled as Nesbit jumped back, his expression wild.

“You can stop running now, Mr Nesbit – campaign’s over.”

“Oh, nice!” Arias said, slapping Schott on the back. “You mind if I steal that?”

“Will I get credit?”

“Of course, I’m not a monster…”

Alex shook her head as Olsen stepped up to Nesbit, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Wasn’t quite finished there I’m afraid, Mr Nesbit. As I was saying, you have the right to remain silent…”

Back at the station, the captain was listening appreciatively to their summation. “Nesbit confessed pretty quickly in the end,” Alex told him. “Still had the weapon in his office – still waiting on ballistics just to make sure we’re fully covered, but it should be a solid case.”

“He’d devoted his life to politics,” Arias said. “He was terrified that if the scandal broke, he’d be damaged goods, never work again.”

“Sad thing is he was probably right,” the captain said. “What about the girls?”

“Their aunt’s coming into town,” Alex said. “They’ll have to stay with social services over night, but after that…” she trailed off, the outcome straying a little too close to home. She forced a smile though. “They should be OK.”

“That’s something, at least,” he said, looking knowingly at her. She knew that he knew perfectly well what she was thinking, but he’d never raise the subject in public. “What about the rug?”

“Complete red herring,” Arias said. “He’d heard they were dumping a load, figured it would be a good diversion.”

“More fool him,” the captain said. “Nice work. You too, Danvers.”

Her jaw dropped. “Sir?”

His expression creased into a grin wider than she was accustomed to seeing from him. “Just yanking your chain, detective, don’t worry.”

Arias sniggered, but before Alex could snap out a retort to the writer, she had turned away to answer her phone. “Hey, Ruby, what’s – I’m at the station, why, where am I supposed to be?” She smacked her palm to her head as Ruby presumably reminded her of something. “The signing, right. Stall for me, I’m on my way, sorry!” She grabbed her coat and hurried out of the room, looking more flustered than Alex had ever seen her – which given that she’d seen the writer being held at gunpoint on one occasion was saying something.

The captain watched her go, bemused. “She’s quite something, isn’t she?”

“She’s definitely something,” Alex muttered, but with no real heat behind the words. She respected the captain too much to give him any grief, implied or otherwise, for his agreement to Arias being around.

“You having fun with her though?”

“I don’t know about that,” she replied, and then a thought struck her. “Actually, sir, would you mind if I slip out?” He waved her away, and she grabbed her own jacket, pulling out her phone and looking up ‘Arias book signing’ as she did so.

* * *

There was a varied crowd at Benoist Books, and they were hanging off Sam’s every word, which was quite the confidence boost. Even Julia looked mollified by how well the reading was going, lingering in the background with a less stern than usual expression, and Sam was really getting into the swing of things when the door to the store opened, the bell tinkling. She looked up, and was surprised to see Danvers walking in, jacket over her shoulder. Sam stumbled over some wording, and Danvers smirked, prompting her to clear her throat and take another crack at it.

_“She stood there in stunned disbelief as the light in his eyes dimmed. He reached out for her and she took his hand, squeezing it for the very last time. She felt her heard stop a beat and in that moment, she knew that he was gone. Darkness fell across the face of the city and across her face as well. ‘Good,’ she thought, as the wind gathered up her hair, ‘no one…will see my tears.’”_

She closed the book delicately and stood back, letting the room fall silent. There were several people in the audience wiping their eyes, discretely or otherwise, and after a moment the whole audience exploded into applause. Sam felt a delighted beam spread across her face, and she inclined her head in gratitude before her gaze slipped towards Danvers. The redhead was leaning against a bookcase, clapping more politely than enthusiastically, but she smiled at Sam genuinely enough. More buoyed by that than she had expected to be, Sam made her way off the stage to grab herself a much needed glass of water. Ruby was waiting for her, and squealed in delight, throwing her arms around her.

“That was amazing, mom!”

“Thanks, sweetie – and thanks for calling!”

“I’m going to need a higher allowance if you keep making me your PA, you know.”

“We’ll see. Come on, lets get out there.”

The crowd had dispersed around the store, chattering happily, and Sam was delighted to see several of them heading to the counter, arms laden with new books. Danvers was casually browsing through a stack of her published works, although with no apparent sign of wanting to buy anything; given the collection that she had produced on their first case, Sam felt that was probably more to do with having already bought the book rather than anything else.

“Oh, you brought Detective Danvers?” Ruby said, sounding excited. Sam shook her head.

“No, actually – she stepped in at the end. Quite the surprise…” She pulled away from Ruby a little, heading over to the detective; Danvers looked up at her approach, offering a smile towards Ruby. “Detective Danvers, what an unexpected pleasure. Thanks for coming.”

“Well, I figured you bother me at my job, so maybe I should return the favor.” She smirked. “That was quite a reading. Very moving.”

“You’re making fun of me, aren’t you?” Sam asked, strangely pleased by the prospect.

“ _’Good,’ she thought as the wind gathered up her hair, ‘no-one will see my tears.’_ ” Exactly how does wind gather up hair, I’m curious?”

“Oh, you’re telling me how to do my job?”

“It’s irritating, isn’t it?”

Sam chuckled, folding her arms. “You could never irritate me, Danvers.”

“Oh, Sam, look at everyone!” Hurricane Lena burst onto the scene with a smile, grabbing at Sam’s arm. “Nia at the _Tribune_ says you’re going to be number one this week, and they’re all buying your books!” She poked at Sam’s bicep. “Now don’t you feel silly for believing all those reviews, hm?”

“Desperately,” Sam said, looking pointedly at her. “What about you?”

“Yes, well, that’s all behind us,” Lena said, averting her gaze to look at Danvers with a smile. “Here’s hoping Nikki Heat does as well, eh detective?”

“I’m sorry, Nikki Heat?” Danvers said, looking confused.

“Yes, the character Sam’s basing on you,” Lena elaborated. Danvers’ expression blackened, and she turned to Sam.

“Nikki Heat? Can I talk to you for a second?”

Sam bit her lip to hold back a smile; there was a quiet ‘uh-oh’ from Lena, and her friend grabbed Ruby’s arm, pulling her away. Danvers folded her arms and stepped very close to Sam. “What kind of name is Nikki Heat?”

“A cop name,” she said, smiling brightly.

“A cop name? It’s a stripper name.”

“Well, I told you she was kinda slutty,” Sam said by way of explanation. Danvers shook her head.

“No. Change it, Arias.”

“But think of the titles! _Summer Heat, Heat Wave…_ ” she waggled her eyebrows suggestively. “ _In Heat…_ ” She took a step back as Danvers stepped even closer.

“Change it.”

“I can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t?” Danvers took another step forward, and Sam started to manoeuvre around a table to the side of them, grinning the whole time.

“I have artistic integrity, detective.”

“ _Artistic integrity_?!” Danvers exclaimed, following her round the table. “Change the name!”

Sam skipped away, winking at Lena and Ruby, who were watching from across the room. Danvers was a stubborn woman, so the likelihood of her dropping the subject any time soon was slim. The argument would be going on for a while.

She couldn’t wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading - let me know what you think? I'd be especially interested in thoughts on Lena, here; the equivalent scene in the show itself is more about Castle's mother trying to make a bit of a ham-fisted attempt at keeping him grounded, which I've tried to change here to Lena panicking very tactlessly; hope I pulled it off...


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